THE DAY OF FLOWERS. A MOTHER'S WALK WITH HER CHILD. One spirit-His Who wore the platted thorn with bleeding brows, Rules universal nature.-Not a flower But shews some touch, in freckle, freak, or stain, Of his unrivalled pencil. He inspires Their balmy odours, and imparts their hues, And bathes their eyes with nectar. Happy who walks with him! COWPER. COME to the woods, my boy! Come to the streams and bowery dingles forth, My happy child! The spirit of bright hours Woos us in every wind; fresh wild-leaf scents From thickets where the lonely stock-dove broods, Enter our lattice; fitful songs of joy Float in with each soft current of the air; And we will hear their summons; we will give One day to flowers, and sunshine, and glad thoughts, And thou shalt revel midst free nature's wealth, And, for thy mother, twine wild wreaths; while she From thy delight, wins to her own fond heart The vernal extasy of childhood back :— Come to the woods, my boy! What! wouldst thou lead already to the path Along the copsewood brook? Come, then! in truth Meet playmate for a child, a blessed child, Is a glad singing stream, heard or unheard, Singing its melody of happiness Amidst the reeds, and bounding in free grace To that sweet chime.-With what a sparkling life It fills the shadowy dingle! now the wing Of some low skimming swallow shakes bright spray Seem, as they glance, to scatter sparks of light From burnished films! And mark yon silvery line Of gossamer, so tremulously hung Across the narrow current, from the tuft Of hazels to the hoary poplar's bough! See, in the air's transparence, how it waves, Quivering and glistening with each faintest gale, Yet breaking not-a bridge for fairy shapes, How delicate, how wondrous! Yes, my boy! Well may we make the stream's bright winding vein Our woodland guide, for He who made the stream Made it a clue to haunts of loveliness, For ever deepening. O, forget him not, Dear child! that airy gladness which thou feel'st As 'twere a breeze within thee, is not less By this clear pool, where, in the shadow flung E'en melting to a more transparent glow Of Italy and Greece. But we will take Our lesson e'en from erring hearts, which blessed The river Deities or fountain Nymphs, For the cool breeze, and for the freshening shade, supreme, And the sweet water's tune. The One Each bird-note, quivering midst light summer leaves, Wherewith transpierced, the clouds of morn and eve, Kindle and melt away! And now, in love, In grateful thoughts rejoicing, let us bend Not yet, I deem, hast visited that lorn But lovely spot, whose loveliness for thee |