Who would have thought my shrivel'd heart
Could have recover'd greenness? It was gone
Quite under ground, as flowers depart
To see their mother-root, when they have blown;
Where they together,
All the hard weather,
Dead to the world, keep house unknown.
These are thy wonders, Lord of power!
Thrilling and quick'ning, bringing down to hell, And up to heaven in an hour;
Making a chiming of a passing bell.
We say amiss,
This or that is:
Thy word is all, if we would spell.
Oh, that I once past changing were
Fast in thy Paradise, where no flow'r can wither!
Many a spring I shot up fair,
Offering at heav'n, growing and groaning thither :
Nor doth my flower
Want a spring-shower,
My sins and I joining together.
But while I grow in a straight line,
Still upward bent, as if heav'n were mine own,
Thy anger comes, and I decline :
What frost to that? What pole is not the zone,
Where all things burn,
When thou dost turn,
And the least frown of thine is shown?
And now in age I bud again;
After so many deaths I live and write,
I once more smell the dew and rain,
And relish versing. O, my only light,
It can not be,
On whom thy tempests fell all night!
These are thy wonders, Lord of love!
To make us see we are but flow'rs that glide;
Which, when we once can find and prove,
Thou hast a garden for us, where to bide.
Who would be more,
Swelling through store,
Forfeit their Paradise by their pride,
GEORGE HERBERT, 1593-1632.
Hear! how the nightingales on every spray,
Hail, in wild notes, the sweet return of May:
The gale, that o'er yon waving almond blows,
The verdant bank with silver blossoms strews;
The smiling season decks each flowery glade.
Be gay too soon the flowers of spring will fade!
What gales of fragrance scent the vernal air!
Hills, dales, and woods their loveliest mantles wear,
Who knows what cares await that fatal day,
When ruder guests shall banish gentle May?
E'en death, perhaps, our valleys will invade.
Be gay too soon the flowers of spring will fade!
The tulip now its varied hue displays,
And sheds, like Ahmed's eye, celestial rays.
Ah! nature, ever faithful, ever true,
The joys of youth, while May invites, pursue!
Will not these notes your timorous minds persuade ?
Be gay too soon the flowers of spring will fade!
The sparkling dew-drops o'er the lilies play,
Like orient pearls, or like the beams of day.
If love and mirth your idle thoughts engage,
Attend, ye nymphs! a poet's words are sage.
While thus you sit beneath the trembling shade,
Be gay too soon the flowers of spring will fade!
The fresh-blown rose, like Zeineb's cheek appears,
When pearls, like dew-drops, glitter in her ears.
The charms of youth at once are seen and past,
And Nature says, "They are too sweet to last."
So blooms the rose, and so the blushing maid-
Be gay too soon the flowers of spring will fade!
See! yon anemones their leaves unfold,
With rubies gleaming, and with living gold:
While crystal showers from weeping clouds descend,
Enjoy the presence of thy tuneful friend :
Now, while the wines are brought, the sofa's laid,
Be gay too soon the flowers of spring will fade!
The plants no more are dried, the meadow dead;
No more the rose-bud hangs her pensive head;
The shrubs revive in valleys, mead, and bowers,
And every stalk is garland'd with flowers;
In silken robes each hillock stands arrayed-
Be gay too soon the flowers of spring will fade!
Clear drops, each morn, impearl the rose's bloom,
And from its leaf the zephyr drinks perfume;
The dewy buds expand their lucid store:
Be this our wealth; ye damsels ask no more,
Though wise men envy, and though fools upbraid,
Be gay too soon the flowers of spring will fade!
The dew-drops sprinkled by the musky gale,
Are changed to essence ere they reach the dale;
The mild, blue sky a rich pavilion spreads,
Without our labor, o'er our favor'd heads.
Let others toil in war, in arts, in trade
Be gay too soon the flowers of spring will fade!
Late gloomy winter chilled the sullen air,
Till Soliman arose, and all was fair.
Soft in his reign, the notes of love resound,
And pleasure's rosy cup goes freely round.
Here on the bank which mantling vines o'ershade,
Be gay too soon the flowers of spring will fade!
May this rude lay, from age to age remain,
A true memorial of this lovely train.
Come, charming maid, and hear thy poet sing,
Thyself the rose, and he the bird of spring;
Love bids him sing, and love will be obey'd.
Be gay too soon the flowers of spring will fade!
Translation of SIR WILIJAM JONES.
From the Turkish of MESIHI.
Alas, delicious Spring! God sends thee down
To breathe upon his cold and perish'd works
Beauteous revival; earth should welcome thee-
Thee and the west wind, thy smooth paramour,
With the soft laughter of her flowery meads;
Her joys, her melodies, the prancing stag
Flutters the shivering fern; the steed shakes out
His mane, the dewy herbage, silver-webb'd,
With frank step trampling; the wild goat looks down
From his empurpling bed of heath, where break
The waters deep and blue, with crystal gleams
Of their quick-leaping people; the fresh lark
Is in the morning sky; the nightingale
Tunes evensong to the dropping waterfall.
Creation lives with loveliness-all melts
And trembles into one mild harmony.
Thy beams are sweet, beloved spring!
The winter-shades before thee fly;
The bough smiles green, the young birds sing,
The chainless current glistens by,
Till countless flowers like stars illume
The deepening vale and forest gloom.
O welcome, gentle guest from high,
Sent to cheer our world below,
To lighten sorrow's faded eye,
To kindle nature's social glow!
O, he is o'er his fellows blest
Who feels thee in a guiltless breast!
Peace to the generous heart essaying
With deeds of love to win our praise!
He smiles, the spring of life surveying,
Nor fears her cold and wintry days:
To his high goal with triumph bright
The calm years waft him in their flight.
Thou glorious goal, that shin'st afar,
And seem'st to smile us on our way,
Bright is the hope that crowns our war,
The dawn-blush of eternal day;
There shall we meet, this dark world o'er,
And mix in love for evermore.
Translation of W. S. WALKER.
THOMAS THAARUP, 1749-1821.
How the spring advances!
New life is playing through the gay green trees;
See how, in yonder bower, the light leaf dances
To the bird's tread, and to the quivering breeze!
How every blossom in the sunlight glances!
The winter frost to his dark cavern flees,
And earth, warm-wakened, feels through every vein
The kindly influence of the vernal rain.
Now silvery streamlets, from the mountains stealing,
Dance joyously the verdant vales along;
Cold fear no more the songster's voice is sealing;
Down in the thick dark grove is heard his song;
And, all their bright and lovely hues revealing,
A thousand plants the field and forest throng;
Light comes upon the earth in radiant showers,
And mingling rainbows play among the flowers.
Translation of C. T. BROOKS.
"Tis sweet, in the green spring,
To gaze upon the wakening fields around;
Birds in thicket sing,
Winds whisper, waters prattle from the ground;
A thousand odors rise,
Breathed up from blossoms of a thousand dyes.
Shadowy, and close, and cool,
The pine and poplar keep their quiet nook;
For ever fresh and full,
Shines at their feet the thirst-inviting brook;
And the soft herbage seems
Spread for a place of banquets and of dreams.
Thou, who alone art fair,
And whom alone I love, art far away:
Unless thy smile be there,
It makes me sad to see the earth so gay:
I care not if the train
Of leaves, and flowers, and zephyrs go again!
Translation of W. C. BRYANT. ESTEVAN MANUEL DE VILLEGAS, 1595-1669.
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