14. NATURE. As a fond mother, when the day is o'er, By promises of others in their stead, Which, though more splendid, may not please him more; So Nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay, How far the unknown transcends the what we know. -H. W. LONGFELLOW. 15. THE VOICE OF SPRING. I come, I come! ye have called me long; I have breathed on the South, and the chestnutflowers By thousands have burst from the forest bowers, I have looked o'er the hills of the stormy North, And the reindeer bounds o'er the pastures free, And the moss looks bright, where my step has been. I have sent through the wood-paths a glowing sigh, From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain; They are sweeping on to the silvery main, They are flashing down from the mountain brows, They are flinging spray o'er the forest boughs, They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves, And the earth resounds with the joy of waves. -FELICIA HEMANS. 16. MARCH. I. The cock is crowing, The lake doth glitter, The green field sleeps in the sun: Are at work with the strongest; Their heads never raising; II. Like an army defeated, On the top of the bare hill; Blue sky prevailing; The rain is over and gone! -WILLIAM WORDSWORTH They come, the merry summer months They come, the gladsome months that bring Up, up, my heart, and walk abroad; The grass is soft: its velvet touch And, like the kiss of maiden love, The daisy and the buttercup It stirs their blood with kindest love But soft! Mine ear upcaught a sound: From yonder wood it came; The spirit of the dim green glade Slow spells his beads monotonous To the soft western wind. Cuckoo! cuckoo! he sings again: His notes are void of art; Good Lord, it is a gracious boon, For thought-crazed wight like me, To smell again these summer flowers Beneath this summer tree; To suck once more in every breath And feed my fancy with fond dreams Leaf, blossom, blade, hill, valley, stream, Still mingle music with my dreams, When summer's loveliness and light A heart that hath waxed old. -WILLIAM MOTHERWELL. |