Songs of Mature and the Seasons. So goeth the poet hand in hand with nature, not enclosed within the narrow warrant of her gifts, but freely ranging within the zodiac of his own wit. Nature never set forth the earth in so rich tapestry as divers poets have done; neither with pleasant rivers, fruitful trees, sweet-smelling flowers, nor whatever else may make the too-much-loved earth more lovely; her world is brazen, the poets only deliver a golden. SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. I. A MORNING SONG. HARK, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin Arise, arise. 2. DAWN-SONG. THE lark now leaves his watery nest Awake! awake! the morn will never rise The merchant bows unto the seaman's star; Who look for day before his mistress wakes. Awake! awake! break through your veils of lawn! WHAT tongue the melodies of morn can tell? The cottage-curs at early pilgrim bark; Crown'd with her pail, the tripping milkmaid sings; The whistling ploughman stalks afield; and, hark! Down the rough slope the ponderous wagon rings; Thro' rustling corn the hare astonish'd springs; Slow tolls the village-clock the drowsy hour; The partridge bursts away on whirring wings; Deep mourns the turtle in sequester'd bower, And shrill lark carols clear from her aerial tower. — James BeATTIE. 4. A GREETING. PACK clouds, away, and welcome day, Wake from thy nest, Robin Redbreast, And from each hill let music shrill Give my fair Love good-morrow! - THOMAS HEYWOOD. |