Now in the spring-time of the coming year,
When in the south celestial hemisphere
Proud Horus mounted with increasing strength,
And each succeeding day had grown in length;—
When April clouds their vernal drops had shed,
And bonny May had made all nature glad;—
When that arch monarch had assail’d the moon,
And bade her quarter in the month of June;—
Then in the garden, rearward of the cot,—
(A little oblong well-trimm’d fruitful spot,
Encompass’d round with hedge-row elder trees,)
Thenceforth would come the meek harmonious bees;
There trip from plant to plant, from flow’r to flow’r,
A-gathering in their luscious golden store.
Some day, perchance, when Horus waxed warm,
The honied-host would sally forth and swarm:
Their movements little Jane would watch with care;
Would call her father, and again repair
Towards the garden: then she knew full well
’Twas time to fetch and swing the tinkling bell,
To save them winging down the orchard-dell.
* * * * *
A stone-throw from this cot, where ran a stream
’Twixt mossy blocks of granite, there would gleam
The glowworm’s beautiful and brilliant light,—
Whilst wandering in the silent lovely night,—
A living lantern in the darksome hours,
’Midst the green hawthorn and the wild-grown flow’rs,
For other insects of its kindred race,
Whose continent is but a little space.
The rivulet (whose distant stream is heard
Careering on and on as though it fear’d
To lose its turn into eternity[161]—
To mingle in old Neptune’s revelry,)
Is oft obscured by Nature’s ambient sward;
Oft check’d; its reckless dance and frolic marr’d,
And turn’d aside to till the farmer’s pail
For breakfast, tea, and to make home brew’d ale.
[161] The ocean.