THE HERDSMAN'S HAPPY SONG.
The fleecy flocks do scud and skip,
The wood-nymphs, fauns, and satyrs trip,
And dance the myrtle trees between,
To glad our lovely summer queen.
1600.
THE HERDSMAN'S HAPPY LIFE.
WHAT pleasures have great Princes
More dainty to their choice,
Than herdsmen wild-who careless
In quiet life rejoice?
And fortune's fate not scorning,
Sing sweet in summer morning.
Their dealings plain and rightful
Are void of all deceit,
They never know how spiteful
It is to kneel and wait,
On favourite presumptuous,
Whose pride is vain and sumptuous.
All day their flocks each tendeth,
At night they take their rest,
More quiet than he who sendeth
His ship into the East,
Where gold and pearl are plenty,
But getting very dainty.
For lawyers and their pleading
They esteem it not a straw;
They think that honest meaning
Is of itself a law;
Where conscience judgeth plainly
They spend no money vainly.
Oh! happy who thus liveth,
Not caring much for gold,
With clothing which sufficeth
To keep him from the cold;
Though poor and plain his diet,
Yet merry it is and quiet.
HIGH on the bare bleak hills the shepherd lies,
Watching his flocks which spot the green below;
Above him spread the grey and sullen skies,
And on the mountains round the unbroken snow.
What voice instructs him there? The winds that blow.
What friend has he? His dog. Yet with these twain
He grows a prophet of the frost and rain,
And well the fox's cunning learns to know.
There lies he, and through coming years must lie,
More lonely than the lonely hills, for they
Have mute companions, like themselves in form;
But he must live alone till life decay,
See nothing save his dog, the flocks, the sky,
Hear nothing save the old eternal storm.
Ir is May! it is May!
And all earth is gay,
For at last old Winter is quite away;
He lingered awhile in his cloak of snow,
To see the delicate primrose blow;
He saw it, and made no longer stay-
And now it is May! it is May!
It is May! it is May!
And we bless the day
When we first delightedly so can say;
April had beams amid her showers,
Yet bare were her gardens, and cold her bowers;
And her frown would blight, and her smile betray-
But now it is May! it is May!
It is May! it is May!
And the slenderest spray
Holds up a few leaves to the ripening ray:
And the birds sing fearlessly out on high,
For there is not a cloud in the calm blue sky,
And the villagers join in their roundelay-
For, oh! it is May! it is May!
It is May! it is May!
And the flowers obey
The beams which alone are more bright than they :
Up they spring at the touch of the sun,
And opening their sweet eyes, one by one
In a language of beauty, they seem all to say-
And of perfumes-'tis May! it is May!
It is May! it is May!
And delights that lay
Chilled and enchained beneath Winter's sway,
Break forth again o'er the kindling soul;
And soften and soothe it, and bless it whole;
Oh! thoughts more tender than words convey
Sigh out-It is May! it is May!
GOD of my sires! yon arch of blue,
The balmy breeze, that verdant hue,
And this warm glow of summer's prime
Transport me o'er the bounds of time;
To Fancy's gaze new worlds arise
And people yonder orient skies;
The boundless realms of 'erial space
Have many a bright and beauteous place
That earth-born eye may never see;
That earth-born thought, howe'er so free,
Can image not nor shadow out,
Even with the misty trace of doubt.
Yet there, O God! like ocean's sand,
Strewed on the shelving, surf-beat strand,
Innumerous hosts-a countless throng,
Spontaneous swell the choral song
Of endless praise; for there, as here,
All that asks worship, love, or fear;
All above, around, below,
To Thee, First Cause, their being owe.
Thy fiat gave them instant birth;
Thou, Thou from chaos called them forth.
Vast, awful, measureless, immense
Thy power and Thine omnipotence!
But, oh! thy gentle Love,
Softly streaming from above;
Warm as the solar beam of day,
Yet calm and sweet as Hesper's ray.
As far-to space's utmost ends,
In one glad reign of bliss extends!
Before thy strength,—before thy power,
"Tis felt,-oh! even in childhood's hour,
Or e'er the mind hath garnered thought,
Instinct to worship that hath taught!
'Tis that which gave yon gushing stream,
'Tis that which gave this gladdening beam,
This flowery mead, yon spreading lawn,
The healthful breeze of early dawn,
The yellow broom, yon heather-bell,
The primrose blushing in yon dell,
The pearly dew that crowns each stem,
Each flower, each leaf with many a gem
Fairer than decks a diadem.
And, nor the last nor least, with praise
And swelling heart, in artless lays,
Giv'st me to kneel before Thy throne,
Here, in this temple of Thine own:
Its roof yon arch of azure hue,
A clear, calm, holy, cloudless blue:
Its altar yon steep hills that rise
In misty grandeur to the skies;
Its incense that one fleecy cloud,
Stainless as infant beauty's shroud;
Its matin hymn that swelling note
That warbles through the lark's clear throat,
This humble love, yet strong, sincere,
This pensive joy, this happy tear
Its worship all. Its priest the thought,
With prostrate adoration fraught,
That Thou art all in all !—that man, what is he?— nought!
I'm coming along with a bounding pace,
To finish the work that Spring begun;
I've left them all with a brighter face-
The flowers in the vales through which I've run.
I have hung festoons from laburnum trees,
And clothed the lilac, the birch, and broom;
I've wakened the sound of humming bees,
And decked all Nature in brighter bloom.
I've roused the laugh of the playful child,
And tired it out in the sunny noon;
All Nature at my approach hath smiled,
And I've made fond lovers seek the moon.
For this is my life, my glorious reign,
And I'll queen it well in my leafy bower;
All shall be bright in my rich domain;
I'm queen of the leaf, the bud, and the flower.
And I'll reign in triumph till autumn time
Shall conquer my green and verdant pride;
Then I'll hie me to another clime,
Till I'm called again as a sunny bride.
"TIS Summer, 'tis Summer, the wild birds are singing,
The woods and the glens with their sweet notes are ringing;
The skies are all glowing with crimson and gold,
And the trees their bright blossoms begin to unfold.
The cushat is breathing his murmurs of love,
The stars are adorning the blue skies above,
While the moon in her beauty is shining on high,
And soothing the heart, while she pleases the eye.
"Tis Summer, 'tis Summer,-and Winter no more
Is heard in the winds, or the ocean's wild roar;
But so calm are the waves over all the great deep,
That their murmurs might lull a young infant to sleep.
The streamlets are gliding all lovely and calm—
And the zephyrs come laden with fragrance and balm ;
Then, oh! let us bow to the merciful Power,
Who lives in the sunbeam, the tree, and the flower,
Who stills the wild tempest, and bids the vast sea
Unruffled and calm as a placid lake be--
Let us bow to that God, who gave Summer its birth,
And who scatters His treasures all over the earth.
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