April - An 1846 Poem
By Wm. H.C. Hosmer. April 14.
- I.
- A subtle masquer is abroad,
- Attended by a merry band,
- Gemming with emerald the sod,
- And breathing fragrance through the land :
- Now, in a robe of blue and gold,
- He wraps his form of graceful mould,
- And whispers 'I am May,'
- In tones of ravishment soon
- He puts more gloomy raiment on
- A sterner part to play.
- II.
- By April of the sunny tress
- The mighty spell of death is broke,
- As marble, with a fond caress,
- To life the son of Belus woke :
- His magic flute of many keys
- Gives to the soft, enamored breeze,
- Notes that recall the lost
- Plumed exiles far away that flew
- When brown the leaves of Autumn grew,
- Touched by a 'killing frost.'
- III.
- The blackbird chants, musician shrill,
- Perched lightly on some budding tree,
- And the blithe robin opens her bill
- Flooding the grove with melody :
- The blue-bird carols on the wing,
- And in my frozen heart the spring
- Of joy wells up again;
- You lark, whose pulsing breast hath drawn
- Its color from the golden dawn,
- Whistles a cheerful strain.
- IV.
- Buds of the maple, redly tinged,
- Are bursting in the naked wood,
- And passing clouds, with amber fringed,
- Drop diamonds on the dimpling flood,
- Moist mould, disturbed by spade or plow,
- A grateful smell is yielding now
- In field and garden-close;
- Bright trout are leaping in the brook,
- And craftily his baited hook
- The silent angler throws.
- V.
- Few violets as yet adorn
- Glade, river-bank and meadow-sod;
- But welcome to the wind of morn
- The daffodil and crocus nod :
- More gorgeous pets can June-time boast,
- But vernal flowers call up a host
- Of recollections dear,
- And fair, expanding hopes that die,
- Or dormant in the bosom lie
- When older grows the year.
- VI.
- While crimson with a quicker flow
- Is coursing through the veins of age
- He deems the scroll of Long Ago,
- Though blurred, a newly-written page.
- Gay Childhood of the radiant brow
- His maddest prank is playing now,
- Waking his wildest cry :
- No longer closeted with books
- On wave and land the Student looks
- Enchantment in his eye.
- VII.
- The moonshine of an April night
- Is balsam to a fevered soul.
- And pastures, bathed in glimmering light,
- Invites me forth alone to stroll;
- And fall my feet without a sound
- Upon its tender green;
- Earth, late so desert like, hath donn'd
- Vestments in beauty far beyond
- The wardrobe of a queen.
- VIII.
- Light curtain-folds of hazy blue
- Hang, star-emblazoned, in the sky,
- And far-off groves, that limit view,
- Tower with their silvery tops on high :
- The music of a ceaseless hymn
- That riseth from the cloisters dim,
- Quells the low plaint of Care;
- Voices, inaudible when Day
- A babbler loud, holds gaudy sway,
- Float on the tides of air.
- IX.
- Thrice welcome, April! Beauty sips
- One draught of thy refreshing wine,
- And Song once more is on her lips,
- Bloom on her countenance divine,
- Retreating Winter vainly flings
- A snow-flake from his feeble wings
- To mar thy work of joy;
- The sports of Easter are thine own
- When manhood throws his burden down,
- And personates the boy.
- X.
- Earth's Laureate Bard in other years,
- Warmed into being by the breath,
- Drank from thy cup of sun-lit tears,
- And learned thy spell to conquer Death.
- The lights and shadows of thy face
- Upon his pictured leaves we trace,
- Thy humors quaint and wild;
- The Skeletons of Rain heard
- His awful, vivifying word,
- And, like thy landscape, smiled.
April 25, 1846. New York Daily Tribune 6(14): 4.