Summer hath come, led on by sunny May The blue-eyed, round whose brow the first pure ray That trembles from the opening gates of dawn Still seems to circle, and the mossy lawn,
As they glide gently onward, ever breathes A beauty and a fragrance, which enwreathes Within the being until every thought With a strange mystery of joy is fraught.
And where the hazel forms a leafy screen Of verdant matting, the cuckoo, unseen, Chaunts forth her woodnotes through the stilly air, Whose silent motions far the accents bear.
And thou hast come, sweet Nightingale! once more O'er our entrancëd spirits to outpour Thy liquid warblings!‘ Mid the flow'rets’ scent And summer's gladness rises interblent
Thy loving welcome! Not the bird that sighs Her thrilling love-tale through the moonlit skies Of Italy, as erst to Juliet's ear From the pomegranate tree‘ twas wafted near,
Seizes the soul with ravishment more sweet Than thy soft tones, stealing unto the seat Of passion, waking echoes in the breast Of love, and purity, and quiet rest,
Murmuring through the windings of the soul, Till interpenetrated is the whole With holy harmonies, and blissful sense Of joyance, and straightway is refted thence
All baser feeling, and all earthly leaven, By the dear magic of that voice from heaven. Fair Priestess of the Beautiful! that bringest Missions of sweetness from above, and flingest
In a rich flood of song — now faint, yet clear As Helicon's own murmurs to the ear, Now swelling till around our being floats In thrilling cadences thy bell-like notes,—
The poetry of poetry, the deep Mysterious essences whose wavings steep Life in the bliss of angels, and the real In the ethereal hues of the ideal;
A welcome to thee! heartfelt as the lay Hymn'd by the panting lark to the young day, Joyous and loving as the sunny beam That greets the early primrose, when the dream
Of flowery revels through the noontide hours First steals upon it. Such a joy is ours Now, as with falt'ring tones our spirits hail Thy glad return, O sweetest Nightingale!
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