May-Day | Page 2

roam.

The caged linnet in the Spring
Hearkens for the choral glee,
When his fellows on the
wing
Migrate from the Southern Sea;
When trellised grapes their flowers unmask,

And the new-born tendrils twine,
The old wine darkling in the cask
Feels the bloom
on the living vine,
And bursts the hoops at hint of Spring:
And so, perchance, in
Adam's race,
Of Eden's bower some dream-like trace
Survived the Flight, and swam
the Flood,
And wakes the wish in youngest blood
To tread the forfeit Paradise,
And
feed once more the exile's eyes;
And ever when the happy child
In May beholds the
blooming wild,
And hears in heaven the bluebird sing,
"Onward," he cries, "your
baskets bring,--
In the next field is air more mild,
And o'er yon hazy crest is Eden's
balmier Spring."
Not for a regiment's parade,
Nor evil laws or rulers made,
Blue Walden rolls its
cannonade,
But for a lofty sign
Which the Zodiac threw,
That the bondage-days are
told,
And waters free as winds shall flow.
Lo! how all the tribes combine
To rout
the flying foe.
See, every patriot oak-leaf throws
His elfin length upon the snows,

Not idle, since the leaf all day
Draws to the spot the solar ray,
Ere sunset quarrying
inches down,
And half-way to the mosses brown;
While the grass beneath the rime

Has hints of the propitious time,
And upward pries and perforates
Through the cold
slab a thousand gates,
Till green lances peering through
Bend happy in the welkin
blue.
April cold with dropping rain
Willows and lilacs brings again,

The whistle of
returning birds,
And trumpet-lowing of the herds.
The scarlet maple-keys betray

What potent blood hath modest May;
What fiery force the earth renews,
The wealth
of forms, the flush of hues;
Joy shed in rosy waves abroad
Flows from the heart of
Love, the Lord.
Hither rolls the storm of heat;
I feel its finer billows beat
Like a sea which me infolds;

Heat with viewless fingers moulds,
Swells, and mellows, and matures,
Paints, and
flavours, and allures,
Bird and brier inly warms,
Still enriches and transforms,

Gives the reed and lily length,
Adds to oak and oxen strength,
Boils the world in tepid
lakes,
Burns the world, yet burnt remakes;
Enveloping heat, enchanted robe,
Wraps
the daisy and the globe,
Transforming what it doth infold,
Life out of death, new out
of old,
Painting fawns' and leopards' fells,
Seethes the gulf-encrimsoning shells,

Fires garden with a joyful blaze
Of tulips in the morning's rays.
The dead log touched
bursts into leaf,
The wheat-blade whispers of the sheaf.
What god is this imperial
Heat,
Earth's prime secret, sculpture's seat?
Doth it bear hidden in its heart

Water-line patterns of all art,
All figures, organs, hues, and graces?
Is it Daedalus? is
it Love?
Or walks in mask almighty Jove,
And drops from Power's redundant horn

All seeds of beauty to be born?
Where shall we keep the holiday,
And duly greet the entering May?
Too strait and

low our cottage doors,
And all unmeet our carpet floors;
Nor spacious court, nor
monarch's hall,
Suffice to hold the festival.
Up and away! where haughty woods

Front the liberated floods:
We will climb the broad-backed hills,
Hear the uproar of
their joy;
We will mark the leaps and gleams
Of the new-delivered streams,
And the
murmuring rivers of sap
Mount in the pipes of the trees,
Giddy with day, to the
topmost spire,
Which for a spike of tender green
Bartered its powdery cap;
And the
colours of joy in the bird,
And the love in its carol heard,
Frog and lizard in holiday
coats,
And turtle brave in his golden spots;
We will hear the tiny roar
Of the insects
evermore,
While cheerful cries of crag and plain
Reply to the thunder of river and
main.
As poured the flood of the ancient sea
Spilling over mountain chains,
Bending forests
as bends the sedge,
Faster flowing o'er the plains,--
A world-wide wave with a
foaming edge
That rims the running silver sheet,--
So pours the deluge of the heat

Broad northward o'er the land,
Painting artless paradises,
Drugging herbs with Syrian
spices,
Fanning secret fires which glow
In columbine and clover-blow,
Climbing
the northern zones,
Where a thousand pallid towns
Lie like cockles by the main,
Or
tented armies on a plain.
The million-handed sculptor moulds
Quaintest bud and
blossom folds,
The million-handed painter pours
Opal hues and purple dye;
Azaleas
flush the island floors,

And the tints of heaven reply.
Wreaths for the May! for happy Spring
To-day shall all her dowry bring,
The love of
kind, the joy, the grace,
Hymen of element and race,
Knowing well to celebrate

With song and hue and star and state,
With tender light and youthful cheer,
The
spousals of the new-born year.
Lo Love's inundation poured
Over space and race
abroad!
Spring is strong and virtuous,
Broad-sowing, cheerful, plenteous,
Quickening
underneath the mould
Grains beyond the price of gold.
So deep and large her bounties
are,
That one broad, long midsummer day
Shall to the planet overpay
The ravage of
a year of war.
Drug the cup, thou butler sweet,
And send the nectar round;
The feet that slid so long
on sleet
Are glad to feel the ground.
Fill and saturate each kind
With good
according to its mind,
Fill each kind and saturate
With good agreeing with its fate,

Willow and violet, maiden and man.
The bitter-sweet, the haunting air,
Creepeth, bloweth everywhere;
It preys on all, all
prey on it,
Blooms in beauty, thinks in wit,
Stings the strong with enterprise,
Makes
travellers long for Indian skies,
And where it comes this courier fleet
Fans in all
hearts