Now over the tropic's broad ellipse The sprite hath passed, as fleet and fast As the light of falling stars, that cast A sudden radiance and eclipse; And all the buds that are folded close As the inner leaves of an unblown rose, In bulb, or cone, or scale, or sheath, And sealed with the odorous gums that breathe Like the breath of the singing and sighing pine, When the dews are falling at evening time, Through cone, and sheath, and bulb, and scale-- Tremble, and cry All hail!

And look where a rosier beam hath cleft The damp and fragrant-smelling earth, A handful of snow-drops peeping forth; As if King Winter had dropped and left-- Stumbling and tripping the steep hills down-- Had clutched his robe and dropped his crown: Or as if the very snow had power, Out of itself to fashion a flower; So vase-like, slender, and exquisite, Like an alabaster lamp alit,--

And shining with a sea-green light, As if it had but newly come Up from some subterranean palace, The haunt of fairy or of gnome, With its waxen taper still alight, And beaming in its leafy chalice, That lit the revellers down below, When the nights were long, and the moon was low You might have heard, far-off and sweet, The sound of the elfin revelries, Like a bugle strain blown over seas, And the patter and beat of dancing feet,-- If you had been like me awake, What time the Great Bear seems to shake, Down through the trackless realms of air, Frost-lances from his shaggy hair; And all around--beneath--across, The round globe lies stabbed through with frost.

Now the touches of the sun, Like some potent alchemist, In heat and dews, in rain and mist, As in a subtle menstruum, Hath dissolved the icy charm, And laid on that cold breast of hers,-- Nature's breast--that faintly stirs, With his fragrant kisses warm, Sweet as myrrh and cinnamon,-- Snow-drops, spring's bright harbingers, First-born children of the sun.

Like a sudden burst of leaf and bloom, The sun shines redly through the gloom, And the wind with its many melodies Hath a murmurous sound like the noise of bees, Singing and humming,--blowing and growing, Of springing blade, and of fountain flowing; And night and silence under the ground Listen--and thrill--and move to the sound, And answer, Spring is coming!

EASTER BELLS

Oh bells of Easter morn, oh solemn sounding bells, Which fill the hollow cells Of the blue April air with a most sweet refrain, Ye fill my heart with pain.

For when, as from a thousand holy altar-fires, A thousand resonant spires Sent up the offering--the glad thanksgiving strain-- "The Lord is risen again!"

He went from us who shall return no more, no more! I say the sad words o'er, And they are mixed and blent with your triumphant psalm, Like bitterness and balm,

We stood with him beside the black and silent river, Cold, cold and soundless ever; But there our feet were stayed--unloosed our clasping fond, And he has passed beyond.

And still that solemn hymn, like smoke of sacrifice, Clomb the blue April skies, And on our anguish placed its sacramental chrism, "Behold, the Lord is risen!"