Love of Spring

I love the time when buds and bells Hang fragrant in the woodland dells; The primrose and the violet On richest mossy banks are set.

How joyous when the warmth of spring Invites the merry birds to sing, And their sweet bowers of love are made Amid the flowering hawthorn’s shade.

Then robed in verdure, stately trees Stretch their broad branches to the breeze, Rejoicing in the glorious light Of sun and sky, like silver bright.

Amid fair meads young lambkins play Their sprightly games in pure array; And insects sport on gauzy wing, Live gems in sunshine fluttering.

Each rural scent, each rustic sound, Enchantment lend the landscape round; And every sight conspires to bless My heart with wild sweet happiness.

I love the summer’s golden reign, And autumn’s ripeness o’er the plain; But to my spirit naught can bring Such gladness as the days of spring.

For then I rove the woodland wild, With heart as simple as a child, And spend the pure fresh morning hours Amid the breezes, birds, and flowers.

Reclining on some grassy seat Within a leafy dark retreat, I con the Poet’s living book Beside the clear-streamed stony brook.

Such calm seclusion strengthens thought, And all His visions bright are brought Across my mind, more fair and clear, Mid scenes His spirit would hold dear.

I love stern winter’s reign sublime, Rich autumn, and sweet summer time; But nothing to my heart can bring Such gladness as the days of spring!

The blithesome tone of this gay melody, This pastoral song, spread cheerfulness around, And made all hearts beside the winter fire Think hopefully of spring. Some moments passed In pleasant converse; then Lucrece was urged Her poem to recite. With gentle grace And modest diffidence, she forward came, Yet with becoming confidence, as one Who knew, but did not over-rate, her powers. She was a poetess by nature framed And had a soul for song. Her flowing thought Moved on in hidden melody, that gave Each word expressive feeling; and her face In every feature, witnessed to a mind Of passions strong and pure. Her eye was dark, And black, and eagle-like. It shone a star By its own inward light; but o’er it hung Silk, raven lashes, that subdued its blaze But lessened not its power. Her lofty brow, By its expansion, shewed a kingdom wide Where thought might rule; and o’er her well-formed head Rich sable hair, in smooth and glossy braids, Displayed its shining beauty. Down her cheek Some bright curls clustered, and amid their shade There peeped the pearl-white lustre of her ear. O’er her fair countenance the pallid rose Assumed the precedence, and nigh subdued Its rich and blushing sister. ’Twas the hue Of thought spread o’er her features, leaving there The marble’s clear transparence. You might dream She were a statue, did not feelings flash Their radiance from her look, and mind’s pure light Float halo-like around her. Tall her form And moulded into grace; each polished limb Seemed full of life and motion; and her step, Though light and agile, yet had stateliness And maiden dignity. She older seemed Than were her years, for eighteen summer suns Alone had passed with ripening influence, Her beauty to mature; but you might date Her more advanced in womanhood, her mind By its expansion, and the thrill of thought And earlier strength of feeling, had impressed Such semblance on her aspect. She was one To whom the world was beautiful; but yet Her mind had thirst for higher beauty still Than met her waking vision. One to whom The tales of old romance, and fairy lore, And songs of chivalry, were needful food. Each noble thought, bold deed, and virtue bright, Found echoes in her breast; heroic acts, Undaunted words, or patriotic love Met sympathy with her. Creative thought, Imagination’s realising power, Gave form and substance to the visions fair That flitted o’er her fancy; abstract themes Lost their elusive subtlety and gained Embodiment and shape. And thus in truth She was a poetess; and all her verse, Though wrought from fancy’s airy gossamer, Had strength and life and strange reality. She thoughts refined, and spirit-like could chain In binding language, and give power and life To evanescent sentiments. She chose To frame a legend full of rich romance, Such as we picture in the days of old, When love was lofty passion—woman seemed A more etherial being sent to tame Man’s rude stern heart mid glorious chivalry. With thought concentred on the theme; with heart Alive to changing feelings, and with voice Deep, rich, and varied, such as well could shew The latent beauty in a poet’s song, She read the story, not unfitly named—