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Blest are the moments, doubly blest,
Each field is then a hallowed spot,
that spreads Its living roof above our heads.
to Heaven! the industrious Sun
Lord! since his rising in the East,
Help with thy grace, through life's short day,
COMPOSED ON MAY MORNING.
[Thrs and the following poem originated in the lines “How
delicate the leafy veil," &c.—My daughter and I left Rydal Mount upon a tour through our - mountains with Mr. and Mrs. Carr in the month of May, 1826, and as we were going up the vale of Newlands I was struck with the appearance of the little chapel gleaming through the veil of half-opened leaves; and the feeling which was then conveyed to my mind was expressed in the stanza referred to above. As in the case of “Liberty” and “Humanity," my first intention was to write only one poem, but subsequently I broke it into two, making additions to each part so as to produce a consistent and appropriate whole.]
WHILE from the purpling east departs
The star that led the dawn,
For May is on the lawn.
Foreran the expected Power,
Shakes off that pearly shower.
Tempers the year's extremes;
Like morning's dewy gleams;
The tremulous heart excite;
The balance of delight.
Time was, blest Power! when youths and maids
At peep of dawn would rise,
Thy birth to solemnize.
Untouched the hawthorn bough,
Man changes, but not Thou!
Thy feathered Lieges bill and wings
In love's disport employ;
Awake to silent joy:
Where the slim wild deer roves;
Their own mysterious groves.
Cloud-piercing peak, and trackless heath,
Instinctive homage pay;
To honour thee, sweet May !
Behold a smokeless sky,
To open a bright eye.
And if, on this thy natal morn,
The pole, from which thy name Hath not departed, stands forlorn
Of song and dance and game;
Still from the village-green a vow
Aspires to thee addrest, Wherever peace is on the brow,
Or love within the breast.
Yes! where Love nestles thou canst teach
The soul to love the more;
That never loved before.
The bashful freed from fear,
In flows the joyous year.
Hush, feeble lyre! weak words refuse
The service to prolong!
Entrusts the imperfect song;
Throughout the live-long day,
The sovereignty of May.
THOUGI many suns have risen and set
Since thou, blithe May, wert born, And Bards, who hailed thee, may forget
Thy gifts, thy beauty scorn;
Confine not harp and voice,
Are grateful and rejoice!
Delicious odours ! music sweet,
Too sweet to pass away!
The soul's desire—a lay
Should praise thee, genial Power ! Through summer heat, autumnal cold,
And winter's dreariest hour.
Earth, sea, thy presence feel—nor less, If yon
ethereal blue With its soft smile the truth
express, The heavens have felt it too. The inmost heart of man if glad
Partakes a livelier cheer; And eyes
that cannot but be sad Let fall a brightened tear.