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Thou giv'st me flowers, thou giv'st me songs ;-bring back
The love that I have lost!

WHAT Wak'st thou, Spring?-sweet voices in the woods, And reed-like echoes, that have long been mute; Thou bringest back, to fill the solitudes,

The lark's clear pipe, the cuckoo's viewless flute, Whose tone seems breathing mournfulness or glee, Ev'n as our hearts may be.

And the leaves greet thee, Spring!-the joyous leaves, Whose tremblings gladden many a copse and glade, Where each young spray a rosy flush receives,

When thy south-wind hath pierc'd the whispery shade, And happy murmurs, running thro' the grass,

Tell that thy footsteps pass.

And the bright waters-they too hear thy call,

Spring, the awakener! thou hast burst their sleep!

Amidst the hollows of the rocks their fall

Makes melody, and in the forests deep,

Where sudden sparkles and blue gleams betray
Their windings to the day.

And flowers-the fairy-peopled world of flowers!
Thou from the dust hast set that glory free,
Colouring the cowslip with the sunny hours,
And pencilling the wood-anemone;

Silent they seem-yet each to thoughtful eye
Glows with mute poesy.

But what awak'st thou in the heart, O, Spring! The human heart, with all its dreams and sighs?

Thou that giv'st back so many a buried thing,

Restorer of forgotten harmonies!

Fresh songs and scents break forth where'er thou art,

What wak'st thou in the heart?

Too much, oh! there too much!—we know not well

Wherefore it should be thus, yet rous'd by thee,

What fond strange yearnings, from the soul's deep cell,
Gush for the faces we no more may see!
How are we haunted, in thy wind's low tone,
By voices that are gone!

Looks of familiar love, that never more,

Never on earth, our aching eyes shall meet, Past words of welcome to our household door,

And vanish'd smiles, and sounds of parted feet— Spring! midst the murmurs of thy flowering trees, Why, why reviv'st thou these?

Vain longings for the dead!-why come they back With thy young birds, and leaves, and living blooms?

Oh! is it not, that from thine earthly track

Hope to thy world may look beyond the tombs ? Yes! gentle spring; no sorrow dims thine air,

Breath'd by our lov'd ones there!


THE hills all glow'd with a festive light,

For the royal city rejoic'd by night :

There were lamps hung forth upon tower and tree,
Banners were lifted and streaming free;

Every tall pillar was wreath'd with fire,

Like a shooting meteor was every spire;

And the outline of many a dome on high

Was traced, as in stars, on the clear dark sky.

I pass'd thro' the streets; there were throngs on


Like sounds of the deep were their mingled songs;

There was music forth from each palace borne—

A peal of the cymbal, the harp, and horn;

The forests heard it, the mountains rang,

The hamlets woke to its haughty clang;

Rich and victorious was every tone,

Telling the land of her foes o'erthrown.

Didst thou meet not a mourner for all the slain?

Thousands lie dead on their battle-plain!

Gallant and true were the hearts that fell

Grief in the homes they have left must dwell ;
Grief o'er the aspect of childhood spread,

And bowing the beauty of woman's head :

Didst thou hear, midst the songs, not one tender


For the many brave to their slumbers gone?

I saw not the face of a weeper there

Too strong, perchance, was the bright lamp's glare!

I heard not a wail midst the joyous crowd

The music of victory was all too loud!

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