May Day with the Muses | Page 8

joys to come.
The door invitingly stood open wide,
I
shook my dust, and set my staff aside.
How sweet it was to breathe
that cooler air,
And take possession of my father's chair!
Beneath
my elbow, on the solid frame,
Appear'd the rough initials of my name,

Cut forty years before!--the same old clock
Struck the same bell,
and gave my heart a shock
I never can forget. A short breeze sprung,

And while a sigh was trembling on my tongue,
Caught the old
dangling almanacks behind,
And up they flew, like banners in the
wind;
Then gently, singly, down, down, down, they went,
And told
of twenty years that I had spent
Far from my native land:--that instant
came
A robin on the threshold; though so tame,
At first he look'd
distrustful, almost shy,
And cast on me his coal-black stedfast eye,

And seem'd to say (past friendship to renew)
"Ah ha! old worn-out
soldier, is it you?"
Through the room ranged the imprison'd humble
bee,
And bomb'd, and bounced, and straggled to be free,
Dashing
against the panes with sullen roar,
That threw their diamond sunlight
on the floor;
That floor, clean sanded, where my fancy stray'd
O'er
undulating waves the broom had made,
Reminding me of those of
hideous forms
That met us as we pass'd the Cape of Storms,
Where
high and loud they break, and peace comes never;
They roll and foam,
and roll and foam for ever.
But here was peace, that peace which
home can yield;

The grasshopper, the partridge in the field,
And
ticking clock, were all at once become
The substitutes for clarion, fife,
and drum.
While thus I mused, still gazing, gazing still
On beds of
moss that spread the window sill,
I deem'd no moss my eyes had ever
seen
Had been so lovely, brilliant, fresh, and green,
And guess'd
some infant hand had placed it there,
And prized its hue, so exquisite,
so rare.
Feelings on feelings mingling, doubling rose,
My heart felt
every thing but calm repose;
I could not reckon minutes, hours, nor

years,
But rose at once, and bursted into tears;
Then, like a fool,
confused, sat down again,
And thought upon the past with shame and
pain;
I raved at war and all its horrid cost,
And glory's quagmire,
where the brave are lost.
On carnage, fire, and plunder, long I mused,

And cursed the murdering weapons I had used.
Two shadows then I saw, two voices heard,
One bespoke age, and
one a child's appear'd.--
In stepp'd my father with convulsive start,

And in an instant clasp'd me to his heart.
Close by him stood a little
blue-eyed maid,
And, stooping to the child, the old man said,

"Come hither, Nancy, kiss me once again,
This is your uncle Charles,
come home from Spain."
The child approach'd, and with her fingers
light,
Stroked my old eyes, almost deprived of sight.--
But why thus
spin my tale, thus tedious be?
Happy old Soldier! what's the world to
me?

Change is essential to the youthful heart,
It cannot bound, it cannot
act its part
To one monotonous delight a slave;
E'en the proud
poet's lines become its grave:
By innate buoyancy, by passion led,

It acts instinctively, it will be fed.
A troop of country lasses paced the green,
Tired of their seats, and
anxious to be seen;
They pass'd Sir Ambrose, turn'd, and pass'd again,

Some lightly tripp'd, to make their meaning plain:
The old man
knew it well, the thoughts of youth
Came o'er his mind like
consciousness of truth,
Or like a sunbeam through a lowering sky,

It gave him youth again, and ecstacy;
He joy'd to see them in this
favourite spot,
Who of fourscore, or fifty score, would not?
He
wink'd, he nodded, and then raised his hand,--
'Twas seen and
answer'd by the Oakly band.
Forth leap'd the light of heart and light
of heel,
E'en stiff limb'd age the kindling joy could feel.
They
form'd, while yet the music started light;
The grass beneath their feet

was short and bright,
Where thirty couple danced with all their might.

The Forester caught lasses one by one,
And twirl'd his glossy green
against the sun;
The Shepherd threw his doublet on the ground,
And
clapp'd his hands, and many a partner found:
His hat-loops bursted in
the jocund fray,
And floated o'er his head like blooming May.

Behind his heels his dog was barking loud,
And threading all the
mazes of the crowd;
And had he boasted one had wagg'd his tail,

And plainly said, "What can my master ail?"
To which the Shepherd,
had he been more cool,
Had only said, "'Tis Oakly feast, you fool."
But where was Philip, he who danced so well?
Had he retired, had
pleasure broke her spell?
No, he had yielded to a tend'rer bond,
He
sat beside his own sick Rosamond,
Whose illness long deferr'd their
wedding hour;
She wept, and seem'd a lily in a shower;
She wept to
see him 'midst a crowd so gay,
For her sake lose the honours of the
day.
But could a gentle youth be so unkind?
Would Philip dance,
and leave his girl behind?
She in her bosom hid a written prize,

Inestimably rich in Philip's eyes;
The warm effusion of a heart that
glow'd
With joy, with love, and hope by Heaven bestow'd.
He
woo'd, he soothed, and every art assay'd,
To