220 AMELIA B. WELBY. [1830-40. And thus she wanders on — half sad, half blest — Without a mate for the pure, lonely heart. That, yearning, throbs within her virgin breast. Never to find its lovely counterpart ! MAY. 0, THIS is the beautiful month of May, The season of birds and of flowers ; The young and the lovely are out and away, Mid the upspringing grass and the blos- soms, at play. And many a heart will be happy to-day, In this beautiful region of ours. Sweet April, the frail, the capriciously bright, Hath passed like the lovely away. Yet we mourn not her absence, for swift at her flight Sprang forth her young sister, an angel of light, And, fair as a sunbeam that dazzles the sight, Is beautiful, beautiful May. What scenes of delight, what sweet visions she brings Of freshness, of gladness, and mirth, Of fair sunny glades where the buttercup springs, Of cool gushing fountains, of rose-tinted wings. Of birds, bees, and blossoms, all beautiful things. Whose brightness rejoices the earth ! How fair is the landscape ! o'er hill-top and glade. What swift-varying colors are rolled — The shadow now sunshine, the sunshine now shade ; Their liglit-shifting hues for the green earth have made A garment resplendent with dew-gems o'er- laid — A light-woven tissue of gold ! O yes ! lovely May, the enchantingly fair, Is here with her beams and her flowers ; Their rainbow-like gai'ments the blossoms now wear, In all their health-giving odors may share. For the breath of their sweetness is out on the air. Those children of sunbeams and showers. The fragrant magnolia in loveliness dressed. The lilac's more delicate hue, The violet half opening its azure-hued vest, Just kissed by a sunbeam, its innocent guest. The light floating cloudlets like spirits at rest. All pictured in motionless blue — These brighten the landscape, and softly unroll Their splendors by land and by sea ; They steal o'er the heart with a magic con- trol, That lightens the bosom and freshens the soul — ! this is the charm that enhances the whole. And makes them so lovely to me. How sweet, when the month's in the flu?h of its prime. To hear, as we wander alone. Some bird's sudden song from the sweet- scented lime. And catch the low gush of its exquisite chime.
