Classic Poem

Wild tenant of the changeful year,
That borne upon the southern wind,
Across the ocean's distant waves,
Wouldst here a sheltering region find;

Too soon, alas! from brighter climes
Thou heedless spread'st thy truant wings;
Too soon thou hither com'st to greet,
With artless notes, the infant spring.

In hoary Winter's palsied lap
The infant Spring all cradled lies,
Whilst round the nursling's tender form
The bitter storms unpitying rise.

To melt the tears that freeze his eyes
No zephyr lends its balmy breath;
For ever clos'd their purple light,
Seal'd by the icy hand of death.

And gentle May, in sable garb,
Seeks with slow steps his mournful bower;
And sadden in the silent grove,
The leafless tree, and lingering flower.

For thee, amid the noontide beam,
No gossamer floats along the vale;
And fled the various insect tribes,
That revel in the summer gale.

Behind yon mountain's misty brow
The low'ring storm is gathering fast,
And sweeps along the cultured plain,
And wakes the wind and welkin blast.

Then turn thee to my humble cell,
And shield thee from the beating rain,
Till Winter's dreary reign is o'er,
And Summer suns shall smile again.

Thus would I soothe Misfortune's child,
And gently calm his troubled breast;
And when life's pelting storms arise,
Here bid the wretched wanderer rest.

Wild tenant of the changeful year,
That borne upon the southern wind,
Across the ocean's distant waves,
Wouldst here a sheltering region find;

Too soon, alas! from brighter climes
Thou heedless spread'st thy truant wings;
Too soon thou hither com'st to greet,
With artless notes, the infant spring.

In hoary Winter's palsied lap
The infant Spring all cradled lies,
Whilst round the nursling's tender form
The bitter storms unpitying rise.

To melt the tears that freeze his eyes
No zephyr lends its balmy breath;
For ever clos'd their purple light,
Seal'd by the icy hand of death.

And gentle May, in sable garb,
Seeks with slow steps his mournful bower;
And sadden in the silent grove,
The leafless tree, and lingering flower.

For thee, amid the noontide beam,
No gossamer floats along the vale;
And fled the various insect tribes,
That revel in the summer gale.

Behind yon mountain's misty brow
The low'ring storm is gathering fast,
And sweeps along the cultured plain,
And wakes the wind and welkin blast.

Then turn thee to my humble cell,
And shield thee from the beating rain,
Till Winter's dreary reign is o'er,
And Summer suns shall smile again.

Thus would I soothe Misfortune's child,
And gently calm his troubled breast;
And when life's pelting storms arise,
Here bid the wretched wanderer rest.