THE WIND- FLOWER. 201 From glen to grove, each small bird's voice again Rings music on the breeze-now the pleas'd eye Can watch the vernal flower through its short reign, Whether its virgin bud conceal'd may lie 'Mong wither'd leaves, or 'neath the budding thorn. Or dips its crimson cups in the pure stream, Watering its new-born blossoms, while the morn I watch'd the Wind-Flower, as she, leaf by leaf, Her pale and vermil petals, streak'd like grief Her angel frame, and droop'd her in her prime. To-morrow ye are gone, and no more found, Till spring again the wood and lawn perfumes. WRITTEN AT SEA. It is pleasant to gaze on the deep blue sky, How lovely then on the calm green sea, All sparkling bright, whose bars infold Our bark as on fairy ground. As our prow glides through, we wondering gaze While from each curling wave, We near❜d the shore, when the dawning morn Illumin'd the waves, and the spell was gone; But never from this breast Shall a sight so glorious and sublime, Ere be effaced, in whatever clime My pilgrim'd footsteps rest. THE COLD SPRING. 203 WRITTEN AT THE CLOSE OF THE COLD SPRING, 1827. As yet the trembling year is unconfirm❜d, And winter oft at eve resumes the breeze, 'Tis April! yet the snow-storm hovers round, To blight and scare thee in thy growth-sweet flower, The flakes fall fast around thee, while the ground Crisps to my tread-all yield to winter's power But thee, and the young snow-drop; left at will What poet with a scene so drear, forlorn, Would mantle spring, in smiling robes of green! For see her shivering in the chills of morn, Where panzied tufts, and primrose beds have been And should be blooming now, where snow-clad bowers Shrine April in the wilderness around, Of fair and spotless purity, where flowers Shrink from the clear cold air within the ground, And nestle their young buds in the wither'd leaves, And bursts its cerement; alternate spread Bloom on, sweet flowers; you're shelter'd in the grove, While all around the devious woodland shore, Where Kelvin murmurs onward as I rove, Is shingled with the rime-frost spreading hoar. As muffled in my cloak I climb the hill, And lean upon yon rock-the vale below, Where winter lords, around sleeps peaceful still, 'Mong leafless underwoods, and wreaths of snow. How bleak appears the wide extending plain, To where yon dark pines throw their gloom around: No speck of green gladdens the dreary scene, No wild bird warbles forth a joyous sound. The cold east wind blows bleak o'er hill and lawn, Your rigours cannot last;—the rudest gush, At its own futile weakness,-though oppress'd TO THALIARCHUS. And sear'd in April's bosom, soon will May Relieve her elder sister, now forlorn, Rain her warm tears, and thaw the frosts away 205 From her wan flowerless forehead. May! thy morn Is usher'd in by all, with odorous breaths, Cradled in April's lap-so poets sing, Who strew thy path in smiles, and flowery wreaths: HORACE, LIB. I. ODE IX.-TO THALIARCHUS. Vides, ut alta, stet nive candidum Soracte. BLEAK Soracte meets my sight, While bound in strongest bands of frost, One solid sheet of ice spreads o'er, Dispel the cold, the friendly blaze, T |