Rural Odes for May. GRAY'S ODE ON THE SPRING. Lo where the rosy-bosomed hours, The untaught harmony of Spring: Beside some water's rushy brink With me the muse shall sit, and think (At ease reclined in rustic state), How vain the ardor of the crowd, How low, how little, are the proud, How indigent the great! Still is the toiling hand of Care; The panting herds repose; Yet hark, how through the peopled air To Contemplation's sober eye Such is the race of Man ; And they that creep, and they that fly, Alike the busy and the gay In Fortune's varying colors dressed; Methinks I hear, in accents low, The sportive, kind reply; Poor moralist! and what art thou? Thy joy no glittering female meets, The season of fresh-springing flowers; Fair nature is loud in her transport of pleasure, And scatters the blossoms while tilting the spray; One impulse of tenderness thrills through the groves, While the birds carol sweetly their innocent loves. How mild is the zephyr that blows! What fragrance his balmy wings bear — He breathes as if fearful to brush from the rose The dew-drops so tremulous there! The stream flowing gently beside the green cresses So lightsomely dashes their tendrils away — It seems some fond mother, who while she caresses, Would sportfully chide her young children at play. Hear the minstrel-bee lulling the blossoms to rest, For the nectar he sips as the wild-flowers' guest! Look out, then, on Nature a while, Observe her inviting thee now, Benevolence beams in her sunshiny smile, PERCIVAL'S "REIGN OF MAY." I FEEL a newer life in every gale; And with their welcome breathings fill the sail, Of hours that glide unfelt away Beneath the sky of May. The spirit of the gentle south wind calls From his blue throne of air, And where his whispering voice in music falls, Beauty is budding there; The bright ones of the valley break Their slumbers and awake. The waving verdure rolls along the plain, To welcome back its playful mates again, And from its darkening shadow floats Fairer and brighter spreads the reign of May; The tresses of the woods With the light dallying of the west wind play, And the full-brimming floods, As gladly to their goal they run, Hail the returning sun. MILTON'S "MAY MORNING." Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose. Hail, bounteous May! that dost inspire Mirth and youth and warm desire; Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee and wish thee long. HOLMES'S "SPRING SCENE." WINTER is past; the heart of Nature warms Beneath the wreck of unresisted storms; Doubtful at first, suspected more than seen, The southern slopes are fringed with tender green; On sheltered banks, beneath the dripping eaves, Spring's earliest nurslings spread their glowing leaves, Bright with the hues from wider pictures won, ANACREON'S "SPRING." TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK BY MOORE. BEHOLD the young, the rosy Spring, Now the earth prolific swells DRYDEN'S "EMILY A-MAYING.” THE young Emilia, fairer to be seen Each gentle breath with kindly warmth she moves; Ramsay's "Gentle Shepherd." THE PERSONS. MY Peggy is a young thing, Just entered in her teens, Fair as the day, and sweet as May, My Peggy speaks sae sweetly, I wish nae mair to lay my care, My Peggy speaks sae sweetly, At wauking of the fauld. 1 The wauking of the faulds' was towards the end of July, after the lambs were weaned; the ewes, at the rising and grease to smear with, and the making of cheese. My Peggy smiles sae kindly, Whene'er I whisper love, That I look down on a' the town, - My Peggy smiles sae kindly, My Peggy sings sae saftly, When on my pipe I play. And in her sangs are tauld, At wauking of the fauld. This sunny morning, Roger, cheers my blood, How heartsome is 't to see the rising plants, - ROGER. I'm born, O Patie! to a thrawart fate. I'm born to strive with hardships sad and great! Tempests may cease to jaw the rowan flood, Corbies and tods to grein for lambkins' blood, But I, opprest with never-ending grief, Maun ay despair of lighting on relief. PATIE. The bees shall loath the flower, and quit the hive, The saughs on boggie ground shall cease to thrive, Ere scornfu' queans, or loss of warldly gear, Shall spill my rest, or ever force a tear! ROGER. Sae might I say; but it's no easy done They dit their lugs, syne up their leglens cleek, ROGER. I wish I cou'dna looe her; - but in vain ; Till he yowl'd sair1 she strak the poor dumb tyke. PATIE. F'en do sae, Roger, wha can help misluck? Saebeins she be sic a thrawn-gabbit chuck,— Yonder's a craig, since ye have tint all houp, Gae till 't your ways, and take the lover's lowp! ROGER. I needna mak sic speed my blood to spill; I'll warrant death come soon enough a-will. PATIE. - Daft gowk! leave aff that silly whingin way, Seem careless, there's my hand ye'll win the day. Hear how I served my lass I looe as weel As ye do Jenny, and with heart as leel. Last morning I was gay and early out, Upon a dyke I leaned glowring about, I saw my Meg come linking o'er the lee; I saw my Meg, but Meggy saw na me; For yet the sun was wading thro' the mist, And she was close upon me e'er she wist; Her coats were kiltit, and did sweetly shaw Her straight bare legs that whiter were than snaw. Her cockernony snooded up fou sleek, Her haffet locks hang waving on her cheek; Her cheek sae ruddy, and her een sae clear; And O! her mouth's like ony hinny pear. Neat, neat she was, in bustine waistcoat clean, As she came skiffing o'er the dewy green : Blythsome I cried, 'My bonny Meg, come here, I ferly wherefore ye're sae soon asteer; But I can guess, ye're gawn to gather dew.' She scoured awa, and said, 'What's that to you?' Then, fare ye weel, Meg-dorts; and e'en's like?' ye I careless cryed, and lap in o'er the dyke. I trow, when that she saw, within a crack, She came with a right thieveless errand back ; Miscawed me first; then bad me hound my dog, To wear up three waff ewes strayed on the bog. I leugh; and sae did she; then with great haste I clasped my arms about her neck and waist; About her yielding waist, and took a fouth Of sweetest kisses frae her glowing mouth. 1Even while he fawned.'- Edition of 1808. Kind Patie, now fair fa' your honest heart, Ye're ay sae cadgy, and have sic an art To hearten ane! for now, as clean's a leek, Ye've cherished me since ye began to speak. Sae, for your pains, I'll make ye a propine (My mother, rest her saul! she made it fine); A tartan plaid, spun of good hawslock woo, Scarlet and green the sets, the borders blue : With spraings like gowd and siller crossed with black; I never had it yet upon my back. Weel are ye wordy o''t, wha have sae kind Redd up my ravel'd doubts, and cleared my mind. Gae farer up the burn to Habbie's How, Where a' the sweets of spring and simmer grow. Between twa birks, out o'er a little lin, The water fa's, and maks a singand din : A pool breast-deep, beneath as clear as glass, Kisses with easy whirles the bordering grass. We'll end our washing while the morning's cool; And when the day grows het, we'll to the pool, There wash oursells; 't is healthfu' now in May, And sweetly cauler on sae warm a day. JENNY. Daft lassie, when we're naked, what'll ye say, Gif our twa herds come brattling down the brae, And see us sae?- that jeering fallow, Pate, Wad taunting say, 'Haith, lasses, ye're no blate!' PEGGY. We're far frae ony road, and out of sight; The lads, they're feeding far beyont the height. But tell me now, dear Jenny, we're our lane What gars ye plague your wooer with disdain? The neighbors a' tent this as weel as I, That Roger loo's ye, yet ye carena by. What ails ye at him? Troth, between us twa, He's wordy you the best day e'er ye saw! JENNY. I dinna like him, Peggy, there's an end! A herd mair sheepish yet I never kenned. |