Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/237

 • * 1830-40] AMELIA B. WELBY. 221 And set to music and turn it to I'hyme, With a spirit as light as its own. And sweet to recline 'neath the emerald- robed trees, Where faiiy-like footsteps have trod, With the lull of the waters, the hum of the bees. Melting into the spirit delicious degrees Of exquisite softness ! in moments like these, I have walked with the angels of God. Sweet season of love, when the fairy-queen trips At eve through the star-lighted grove — What vows are now breathed where the honey-bee sips ! What cheeks, whose bright beauties the roses echpse, Are crimsoned with blushes ! what rose- tinted lips Are moist with the kisses of love ! Yet, loveliest of months ! wdth the praises I sing, Thy glories are passing away With the dew from the blossom, the bird on the wing, Yet round thee a garland poetic I fling. Sweet sister of April ! young child of the Spring ! O beautiful, beautiful May ! THE DEW-DROP. I AM a sparkling drop of dew, Just wept from yon silver star. But drops of dew have very few To care for what they are ; For little ye dream, who dwell below. Of all I've wandered through ; Ye only know I sparkle so, Because I'm a drop of dew. I flashed at first with waves, that whirl O'er the blue, blue tossing sea ; Where eddies curl o'er beds of pearl I wandered wild and free, Till I chanced to spy an elfin king. And I danced before his view. When the merry thing, with his glittering wing, Whisked ofi" the drop of dew. The evening air with sweets was fraught. And away we flitted far. When, quick as thought, I was upward caught. To yon lovely vesper star ; And I'm very sure a gentle charm That bright thing round me threw. For an angel form, in her bosom warm, Enfolded the drop of dew. But I slept not long in yon starry bower. In the bosom of my love, For, in a shower, to this primrose flower, She sent me from above ; And soon its moonlight leaves will close. But they hide me not from view, For the wind, that flows o'er the young primrose, Will kiss off" the drop of dew. THE SUMMER BIRDS. Sweet warblers of the sunny hours, Forever on the wing — I love them as I love the flowers, The sunlight and the spring. They come like pleasant memories In summer's joyous time, And sing their gushing melodies As I would sing a rhyme. In the green and quiet places. Where the golden sunlight falls,