The monarch and other poems . t length the mystic touch of SpringAwakes the slumbering forms ofearth, When Nature spreads her warming wing,And blesses all with glad rebirth. 84 Her breath infuses every breezeWith odors and perfumes divine, Drawn from the blossomed apple treesAnd every fragrant bud and vine. Now robins sing their sweetest song —And bobolinks and orioles,— Sweetest because suppressed so long It bursts from out their brimming souls Now comes the chirp of building birds; The noisy caw of watchful crows;While from the hill-sides browsing herds The distant cow-bells tinkle flows. 85
The monarch and other poems . t length the mystic touch of SpringAwakes the slumbering forms ofearth, When Nature spreads her warming wing,And blesses all with glad rebirth. 84 Her breath infuses every breezeWith odors and perfumes divine, Drawn from the blossomed apple treesAnd every fragrant bud and vine. Now robins sing their sweetest song —And bobolinks and orioles,— Sweetest because suppressed so long It bursts from out their brimming souls Now comes the chirp of building birds; The noisy caw of watchful crows;While from the hill-sides browsing herds The distant cow-bells tinkle flows. 85 The blackbirds from the willows cry; The plover pipes in yonder bogs,And from the stagnant pool, hard by, Rise amorous murmurings of the frogs, Such mingled sweets and rhapsodiesSoothe every sense with anodynes; — In vain I strive, through languors comprehend Gods vast designs! 86 THE FINAL he night was starless, bleak anddrear, And through the rigging onecould hearThe wild winds blowing, bearing moans Discordant to the ear, and groans Of ship, now tossed from side to side, As on she trembled oer the tide. »7 Yet plunged she through the stormy way,With throes that brought but pale dismay To stalwart hearts, appalled by fear,That sent to cheeks the anxious tear Lest kindred on a distant shore,Might wait, alas, forevermore. Beneath the decks low, creaking beam,In calm repose and joyful dream, An aged mother, lone and ill, Throughout the tempest slumbered still, Whose lamp of life, with fading ray,Foretold her near and final day. 88 Long widowed, she had lived through toilOn distant Scotlands storied soil; For, one by one, at mans estate,Their pulses strong, their hearts elate, Her sons had sought far western shoresWhere Plenty stood at opened doors. And thus, with all lifes sunshine lost,Time touched her with its wilting frost; Then years grew long, and dark the way,Like
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