Poems (Mitford)/To May, 1808

by Mary Russell Mitford

TO MAY. 1808.

Hail, lovely morn! the drooping spring
 Revives to greet the youthful May,
And all his treasur'd charms will bring,
 To doubly bless this hallow'd day.

The sun dispels sad April's gloom,
 And darts again his cheering ray,
And wakes all nature from her tomb,
 To hail, with him, the lovely May.

O doubly welcome art thou. May!
 For sad were gloomy April's tears;
No "blossoms clothe the hawthorn spray,"
 And scarce a budding leaf appears.

And scatter'd by the driving hail—
 Where erst fair violets bloom'd around,
And spread their fragrance on the gale—
 The mangled primrose strews the ground.

With tott'ring steps the new fall'n lamb,
 Seeks shelter from th' inclement sky;
And meekly couches by its dam,
 And faintly breathes its plaintive cry.

From yonder bush, the blast so rude
 The blackbird's clay-built nest has torn;
The grove, where late his bride he woo'd,
 Now echoes to his notes forlorn.

All Nature felt the gen'ral chill,
 The lightest heart a gloom confest;
It deaden'd fancy's magic thrill,
 Imagination's fires represt.

But at thy mild approach, fair May!
 Shall Spring his fainting charms renew,
The sun's enliv'ning beams shall play,
 On meadows bright with morning dew.

There, on the primrose bank so fair,
 Shall fresher, brighter flow'rets bloom,
And cowslips, through the ambient air,
 Shall shed around their soft perfume.

The meek-eyed lamb, on verdant plain,
 With frolic mien shall skip and play;
The blackbird build his nest again,
 And gaily chaunt his am'rous lay.

Again the glowing ray inspires,
 And nature all around is gay;
And cold the heart, and dull its fires,
 That feels not thy enchantment, May!