Rural Odes for April. MRS. BARBAULD'S "SPRING." Hope waits upon the flowery prime.-WALLER. SWEET daughter of a rough and stormy sire, And swelling buds are crowned; [shade), From the green islands of eternal youth (Crowned with fresh blooms, and ever springing Turn, hither turn thy step, O thou, whose powerful voice, More sweet than softest touch of Doric reed, Thee, best beloved! the virgin train await With untired feet; and cull thy earliest sweets That prompts their whispered sigh. Unlock thy copious stores; those tender showers That drop their sweetness on the infant buds, And silent dews that swell The milky ear's green stem, And feed the flowering osier's early shoots; Now let me sit beneath the whitening thorn, O nymph, approach! while yet the temperate sun, And with chaste kisses woo8 The earth's fair bosom; while the streaming veil Of lucid clouds, with kind and frequent shade, Protects thy modest blooms From his severer blaze. Sweet is thy reign, but short: the red dog-star Shall scorch thy tresses, and the mower's scythe Thy greens, thy flowerets all, Remorseless shall destroy. Reluctant shall I bid thee then farewell; For, O! not all that Autumn's lap contains, Nor Summer's ruddiest fruits, Can aught for thee atone, Fair Spring! whose simplest promise more delights LONGFELLOW'S "APRIL DAY." ALL day the low-hung clouds have dropt Their garnered fulness down ; All day that soft, gray mist hath wrapt Of life, or living creature ; — I could have half believed I heard - I stood to hear - I love it well For leafy thickness is not yet Earth's naked breast to screen, Though every dripping branch is set Those honeysuckle buds Have swelled to double growth; that thorn Hath put forth larger studs. That lilac's cleaving cones have burst, The milk-white flowers revealing; Methinks their sweets are stealing. And grace and beauty everywhere Down, down they come-those fruitful stores! A momentary deluge pours, Then thins, decreases, stops. 52 RURAL POETRY. PERCIVAL-MRS. HEMANS LONGFELLOW. MRS. HEMANS'S "VOICE OF SPRING.” I COME, I come! ye have called me long, I come o'er the mountains with light and song; I have breathed on the south, and the chestnut-flowers By thousands have burst from the forest-bowers : I have passed o'er the hills of the stormy north, From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain; Away from the dwellings of careworn men, Spirit of Beauty! the air is bright See how the clouds, as they fleetly pass, Throw their shadowy veil on the darkening grass; He comes from the mountain's piny steep, The waves in silvery glances break, He has crossed the lake, and the forest heaves, LONGFELLOW'S "APRIL." WHEN the warm sun, that brings Seed-time and harvest, has returned again, 'Tis sweet to visit the still wood, where springs The first flower of the plain. I love the season well When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, Nor dark and many-folded clouds foretell The coming-in of storms. From the earth's loosened mould The sapling draws its sustenance, and thrives: Though stricken to the heart with winter's cold, The drooping tree revives. CLARE'S "SPRING MUSINGS " O! WHO can speak his joys when spring's young morn, From wood and pasture, opened on his view! When tender green buds blush upon the thorn, And the first primrose dips its leaves in dew: Each varied charm how joyed would he pursue, Tempted to trace their beauties through the day; Gray-girdled eve and morn of rosy hue Have both beheld him on his lonely way, Far, far remote from boys, and their unpleasing play. Sequestered nature was his heart's delight; Him would she lead through wood and lonely plain, Searching the pooty from the rushy dike; And while the thrush sang her long-silenced strain, He thought it sweet, and mocked it o'er again; And while he plucked the primrose in its pride, He pondered o'er its bloom 'tween joy and pain; And a rude sonnet in its praise he tried, Where nature's simple way the aid of art supplied. The freshened landscapes round his routes unfurled, The fire-tinged clouds above, the woods below, Each met his eye a new-revealing world, Delighting more as more he learned to know; Each journey sweeter, musing to and fro. Surrounded thus, not Paradise more sweet; Enthusiasm made his soul to glow; His heart with wild sensations used to beat; As nature seemly sang, his mutterings would repeat. Upon a molehill oft he dropped him down, To take a prospect of the circling scene, Marking how much the cottage roof's thatch brown Did add its beauty to the budding green Of sheltering trees it humbly peeped between ; The stone-rocked wagon with its rumbling sound; The windmill's sweeping sails at distance seen; And every form that crowds the circling round, Where the sky, stooping, seems to kiss the meeting ground. And dear to him the rural sports of May, [die. When each cot-threshold mounts its hailing bough, And ruddy milkmaids weave their garlands gay, Upon the green to crown the earliest cow; When mirth and pleasure wear a joyful brow; And join the tumult, with unbounded glee, The humble tenants of the pail and plough: He loved old sports,' by them revived, to see, But never cared to join in their rude revelry. O'er brook-banks stretching, on the pasture-sward He gazed, far distant from the jocund crew; "T was but their feats that claimed a slight regard; "T was his his pastimes lonely to pursue Wild blossoms creeping in the grass to view, Scarce peeping up the tiny bent as high, Betinged with glossy yellow, red, or blue, Unnamed, unnoticed but by Lubin's eye, That like low genius sprang, to bloom their day and O, who can tell the sweets of May-day's morn To waken rapture in a feeling mind; When the gilt east unveils her dappled dawn, And the gay woodlark has its nest resigned, As slow the sun creeps up the hill behind; Morn reddening round, and daylight's spotless hue, As seemingly with rose and lily lined; While all the prospect round beams fair to view, Like a sweet opening flower with its unsullied dew! Ah! often brushing through the dripping grass, Has he been seen to catch this early charm, Listening the 'love-song' of the healthy lass Passing with milk-pail on her well-turned arm; Or meeting objects from the rousing farmThe jingling plough-teams driving down the steep, Wagon and cart; and shepherd-dogs' alarm, Raising the bleatings of unfolding sheep, As o'er the mountain top the red sun 'gins to peep. Nor could the day's decline escape his gaze; He loved the closing as the rising day, And oft would stand to catch the setting rays, Whose last beams stole not unperceived away; When, hesitating like a stag at bay, The bright, unwearied sun seemed loath to drop, Till chaos' night-hounds hurried him away, And drove him headlong from the mountain top, And shut the lovely scene, and bade all nature stop. With contemplation's stores his mind to fill, O doubly happy would he roam as then, When the blue eve crept deeper round the hill, While the coy rabbit ventured from his den, And weary labor sought his rest again; Lone wanderings led him haply by the stream, Where unperceived he 'joyed his hours at will, Musing the cricket twittering o'er its dream, Or watching o'er the brook the moonlight's dancing beam. * * WARTON'S "APRIL." WITH dalliance rude young Zephyr woos Coy May. Full oft with kind excuse The boist'rous boy the fair denies, Or with a scornful smile complies. Mindful of disaster past, While from the shrubb'ry's naked maze, Of Flora's brightest 'broidery shone, Scant along the ridgy land The beans their new-born ranks expand: The swallow, for a moment seen, Skims in haste the village green : From the gray moor, on feeble wing, The screaming plovers idly spring: The butterfly, gay-painted, soon Explores a while the tepid noon, And fondly trusts its tender dyes To fickle suns and flatt'ring skies. Fraught with a transient, frozen shower, If a cloud should haply lower, Sailing o'er the landscape dark, Mute on a sudden is the lark; But when gleams the sun again O'er the pearl-besprinkled plain, And from behind his watery veil Looks through the thin-descending hail, She mounts, and, lessening to the sight, Salutes the blithe return of light, And high her tuneful track pursues Where, in venerable rows, Musing through the lawny park, Within some whispering, osier isle, The fisher seeks his customed nook ; O'er the broad downs, a novel race, His freeborn vigor yet unbroke Yet in these presages rude, Dodsley's "Agriculture." CANTO I. ARGUMENT. The proposition. - Address to the Prince of Wales. - Invocation to the genius of Britain. - Husbandry to be encouraged, as it is the source of wealth and plenty.Advice to landlords, not to oppress the farmer.-The farmer's three great virtues. His instruments of husbandry. His servants.-- Description of a country 'statute.' Episode of the fair milk-maid. The farm-yard described. The pleasures of a rural life. - Address to the great, to study agriculture. An allegory, attempting to explain the theory of vegetation. THE SUBJECT. CULTURE; FRUITS; EXCHANGES OF PROD- Or culture and the various fruits of earth, INVOCATION TO THE GENIUS OF BRITAIN. Genius of Britain! pure intelligence! To guide the weal of this distinguished isle; LABOR THE SOURCE OF WEALTH; AND THE LABORER COMMENDED TO GOVERNMENTAL CARE. From cultivation, from the useful toils Of the laborious hind, the streams of wealth And plenty flow. Deign, then, illustrious youth! To bring the observing eye, the liberal hand, And with a spirit congenial to your birth, Regard his various labors through the year: So shall the laborer smile, and you improve The happy country you are born to rule. WINTER; THE TIME TO CHOOSE A FARM. The year declining, now hath left the fields Divested of their honors, the strong glebe 1 The author's original design was to have written a poem entitled Public Virtue,' in three books: 1st, Agriculture; 2d, Commerce; 3d, Arts. The first book was all that he ever executed. Exhausted, waits the culture of the plough, To fix his habitation on a soil LANDHOLDERS EXHORTED TO DEAL HONESTLY AND LIBERALLY WITH FARMERS. O ye, whom fortune in her silken robe Enwraps benign; whom plenty's bounteous hand Hath favored with distinction! O look down, With smiles indulgent, on his new designs! Assist his useful works, facilitate His honest aims: nor in exaction's gripe Enthral the endeavoring swain. Think not his toils Were meant alone to foster you in ease And pampered indolence; nor grudge the meed Which Heaven in mercy gives to cheer the hand, The laboring hand of useful industry. Be yours the joy to propagate content; With bounteous Heaven cooperate, and reward The poor man's toil, whence all your riches spring. As in a garden, the enlivening air Is filled with odors, drawn from those fair flowers Which by its influence rise; so in his breast Benevolent, who gives the swains to thrive, Reflected live the joys his virtues lent. THE YOUNG FARMER ADVISED TO FRUGALITY, TEMPERANCE, INDUSTRY. But come, young farmer, though by fortune fixed Yet, ere thy toils begin, attend the muse, Will give thee competence; thy gains are small, |