TO SPRING.
Hail! reviving, joyous Spring, Smiling through thy veil of showers; Birds and brooks thy welcome sing,-- Haste, and waken all thy flowers.
Hark! a sweet pervading sound!
From the breathing, moving earth Life is starting all around, Sending joy and fragrance forth.
O"er the oak"s gigantic form Blossoms hang their drapery; Branches that defied the storm Now are full of melody.
There is not a silent thing In this joyous company; Woods, and hills, and valleys ring With a shout of jubilee.
Wake, my spirit! art thou still?
Senseless things have found a voice; Shall this throbbing heart be still, When all nature cries, "Rejoice"?
Wake, come forth, my bounding soul!
Join the universal glee, Yield to nature"s kind control, Catch her heavenly harmony.
Join the grateful, happy throng, Cast each selfish care away; Birds and brooks shall tune your song; This is nature"s holiday.
HER VOYAGE IS AT AN END.
Hushed was the ocean"s stormy roar, Still as an infant"s joy; There sat upon the rocky sh.o.r.e A father and his boy.
Far off they saw a gallant ship, It came from foreign lands; The boy began to dance and skip, And clap his little hands.
Her wished-for port is near at hand, The ship is hastening on; They hear the birds sing on the land; Her voyage is nearly done.
The boy"s glad notes, his shouts of glee, The rocks with music fill; But now he cries,--"See, father, see!
The ship is standing still."
Her masts are trembling from the shock.
Her white sails all descend; The ship has struck upon a rock,-- Her voyage is at an end.
The sailors hurry to and fro, All crowded is the deck; She struggles hard,--she"s free;--O, no!
She is indeed a wreck.
The boy"s young heart is full of grief: "Father! what will she do?
Let"s take the boat to her relief, O, quickly let us go!"
They went,--and many a stronger hand Its ready succour gave; They brought the crew all safe to land, And the cargo tried to save.
The night comes on, the night is dark, More dark the billows seem; They break against the ship, and hark!
The seamew"s mournful scream.
The boy upon his pillow lies, In sweet repose he sinks; And, as he shuts his weary eyes, On the poor ship he thinks.
The sun shines o"er the watery main As it did the day before; The father and his son again Are seated on the sh.o.r.e.
With the western wind full many a boat Their white sails gayly fill, They lightly o"er the blue waves float,-- But the gallant ship is still.
The sailors now the mournful wreck Of masts and rigging strip; The waves are playing o"er the deck Of the sad and ruined ship.
A crow upon the top branch stood Of a lone and blasted tree; He seemed to look upon the flood With a gloomy sympathy.
The boy now looks up at the bird, At the sinking vessel now; He does not speak a single word.
But a shade is on his brow.
Now slowly comes a towering wave, And sweeps with triumph on; It bears her to her watery grave,-- The gallant ship is gone.
Hushed is the ocean"s stormy roar, Still as an infant"s joy; The father sits upon the sh.o.r.e In silence with his boy.
_Coha.s.set Sh.o.r.e, July, 1831._
CHARLEY AND HIS FATHER.
A BALLAD.
The birds are flown away, The flowers are dead and gone, The clouds look cold and gray Around the setting sun.
The trees with solemn sighs Their naked branches swing; The winter winds arise, And mournfully they sing.
Upon his father"s knee Was Charley"s happy place, And very thoughtfully He looked up in his face;
And these his simple words:-- "Father, how cold it blows!
What "comes of all the birds Amidst the storms and snows?"
"They fly far, far away From storms, and snows, and rain; But, Charley dear, next May They"ll all come back again."
"And will my flowers come, too?"
The little fellow said, "And all be bright and new, That now looks cold and dead?"
"O, yes, dear; in the spring The flowers will all revive, The birds return and sing, And all be made alive."
"Who shows the birds the way, Father, that they must go?
And brings them back in May, When there is no more snow?
"And when no flower is seen Upon the hill and plain, Who"ll make it all so green, And bring the flowers again?"
"My son, there is a Power That none of us can see Takes care of every flower, Gives life to every tree.
"He through the pathless air Shows little birds their way; And we, too, are his care,-- He guards us day by day."
"Father, when people die, Will they come back in May?"
Tears were in Charley"s eye,-- "Will they, dear father, say?"
"No! they will never come; We go to them, my boy, There, in our heavenly home, To meet in endless joy."