PERSEPHONE; OR, THE SPIRIT OF NATURE And life.

PART I.

NATURE in Sweet bewilderment

From out her snowy vesture creeps:
The gentle Spring forgetful sleeps,
Lulled in her dream of deep content;

Dream that in rosy hopes will break,
When dancing o'er the daisied lea,
Shall step the bride Persephone,
And all the earth to life awake.

Shy Nature kneels in trembling guise,
Her pure brow white as driven snow,
Her fleecy robes the south winds blow,
Love's mystery lights her dewy eyes.

She hears the ripple on the shore,

The tuneful bluebird cleave the skies;
Her heart leaps up in glad surprise
To know her hour has come once more.

Swift-footed bride, Persephone,

How blush the meadows at thy tread!
The oak unfurls his banners red,
And swallows come across the sea.

The downy willow from her shroud

Hangs out her tassels' yellow bloom,
The nestling fern unrolls its plume,
The modest woods are veiled in cloud.

Ring every golden buttercup,

A bell of bridal festival;
Weave white the daisy coronal,
And gather all the sweetness up.

The chrysalid with rapture stirs ;
The water-beetle feels more nigh
His glory of the dragon-fly,
And nectar fills the flower-spurs.

Down in the confidential green

Of clover-fields the insects hum,

While myriad creatures pipe and drum, And live their busy life unseen.

The flowers of the Indian corn

Droop their fair feathers o'er the sheath, And all their pollen grains bequeath That golden harvests may be born.

Ye chiding bees, I will not heed
Your busy murmur; summer's sky
Enchants me, though I know not why.

On her ambrosia let me feed,

And wander with Persephone,

As walking in a happy sleep, Enraptured with the chorus deep Of Nature's ceaseless symphony.

The night-moth dips his honeyed tongue
In whispering blossoms of the dusk,
And cereus wafts her subtle musk
While night-shade bells are passion-rung;

And meteors down the milky way
Hurl their swift lances, till the night

Is quivering in the silver light,
The mystic dawning of the day.

In ravishment so full and true

I fain would linger; nay, but hark!
The carol of the meadow-lark

Is palpitating through the blue.

The sweet azalea scents the breeze,

The bayberry's warm and spicy breath,
Its fragrant incense offereth

On moon's high altar 'neath the trees.

The laurel's rosy-plaited cup

Clusters above its glossy leaves, Where Poesy her garland weaves, And Hebe holds the chalice up.

The harvest garnered; yea, the chaff Blown wide upon the vagrant wind. The cup is drained, and naught behind Is ours again to spurn or quaff.

Adieu, divine Persephone!

We wait another summer's joy,

When the pomegranate's juice shall cloy, And Hades ope its gate for thee.

PART II.

Bewildering miracle of life!

The brooding nest, the swelling bud,
The rushing river at its flood,

And Spring with all its promise rife.

Now Nature calls from star to clod
All things to fruitful blossoming;
The resurrection-soul of Spring
Speaks out the vernal thought of God.

For birth is holy as a shrine,

And sacred is the hidden germ;
The seed is sown when faith is firm,

And Nature's vestal hour divine.

The snowy lily lifts her face

Upon the placid, waveless lake;
Her pure white petals, flake on flake,
Are peerless in their queenly grace.

The rose in all his pride superb,
Blush-tinted or in royal red,

Still holds aloft his crowned head,
In empire none would dare disturb.

But rose and lily I forego

To watch the grass-blade's juicy shoot,
The impulse of the swelling fruit,

The spring of life I fain would know,