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BREATHINGS OF SPRING.
Thou giv'st me flowers, thou giv'st me songs ;-bring back
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
And flowers-the fairy-peopled world of flowers!
Silent they seem-yet each to thoughtful eye
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,
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 ILLUMINATED CITY.
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,
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 ;
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!