Poems by Denis Florence MacCarthy Part 26

Out of the sea with their eyes of glee, This sweet May morn, Came the blue waves hastily on; And they murmuring cried--Thou happy one!

Show us, O Earth! thy darling child, For we heard far out on the ocean wild, That the beautiful May was born.

The wing'ed flame to the rosebud came, This sweet May morn, And it said to the flower--Prepare!

Lay thy nectarine bosom bare; Full soon, full soon, thou must rock to rest, And nurse and feed on thy glowing breast, The beautiful May now born.

The gladsome breeze through the trembling trees, This sweet May morn, Went joyously on from bough to bough; And it said to the red-branched plum--O thou, Cover with mimic pearls and gems, And with silver bells, thy coral stems, For the beautiful May now born.

Under the eaves and through the leaves This sweet May morn, The soft wind whispering flew: And it said to the listening birds--Oh, you, Sweet choristers of the skies, Awaken your tenderest lullabies, For the beautiful May now born.

The white cloud flew to the uttermost blue, This sweet May morn, It bore, like a gentle carrier-dove, The bless'ed news to the realms above; While its sister coo'd in the midst of the grove, And within my heart the spirit of love, That the beautiful May was born!

WELCOME, MAY.

Welcome, May! welcome, May!

Thou hast been too long away, All the widow'd wintry hours Wept for thee, gentle May; But the fault was only ours-- We were sad when thou wert gay!

Welcome, May! welcome, May!

We are wiser far to-day-- Fonder, too, than we were then.

Gentle May! joyous May!

Now that thou art come again, We perchance may make thee stay.

Welcome, May! welcome, May!

Everything kept holiday Save the human heart alone.

Mirthful May! gladsome May!

We had cares and thou hadst none When thou camest last this way!

When thou camest last this way Blossoms bloomed on every spray, Buds on barren boughs were born-- Fertile May! fruitful May!

Like the rose upon the thorn Cannot grief awhile be gay?

'Tis not for the golden ray, Or the flowers that strew thy way, O immortal One! thou art Here to-day, gentle May-- 'Tis to man's ungrateful heart That thy fairy footsteps stray.

'Tis to give that living clay Flowers that ne'er can fade away-- Fond remembrances of bliss; And a foretaste, mystic May, Of the life that follows this, Full of joys that last alway!

Other months are cold and gray, Some are bright, but what are they?

Earth may take the whole eleven-- Hopeful May--happy May!

Thine the borrowed month of heaven Cometh thence and points the way.

Wing'ed minstrels come and play Through the woods their roundelay; Who can tell but only thou, Spirit-ear'd, inspir'ed May, On the bud-embow'r'ed bough What the happy lyrists say?

Is the burden of their lay Love's desire, or Love's decay?

Are there not some fond regrets Mix'd with these, divinest May, For the sun that never sets Down the everlasting day?

But upon thy wondrous way Mirth alone should dance and play-- No regrets, how fond they be, E'er should wound the ear of May-- Bow before her, flower and tree!

Nor, my heart, do thou delay.

THE MEETING OF THE FLOWERS.

There is within this world of ours Full many a happy home and hearth; What time, the Saviour's blessed birth Makes glad the gloom of wintry hours.

When back from severed sh.o.r.e and sh.o.r.e, And over seas that vainly part, The scattered embers of the heart Glow round the parent hearth once more.

When those who now are anxious men, Forget their growing years and cares; Forget the time-flakes on their hairs, And laugh, light-hearted boys again.

When those who now are wedded wives, By children of their own embraced, Recall their early joys, and taste Anew the childhood of their lives.

And the old people--the good sire And kindly parent-mother--glow To feel their children's children throw Fresh warmth around the Christmas fire.

When in the sweet colloquial din, Unheard the sullen sleet-winds shout; And though the winter rage without, The social summer reigns within.

But in this wondrous world of ours Are other circling kindred chords, Binding poor harmless beasts and birds, And the fair family of flowers.

That family that meet to-day From many a foreign field and glen, For what is Christmas-tide with men Is with the flowers the time of May.

Back to the meadows of the West, Back to their natal fields they come; And as they reach their wished-for home, The Mother folds them to her breast.

And as she breathes, with balmy sighs, A fervent blessing over them, The tearful, glistening dews begem The parents' and the children's eyes.

She spreads a carpet for their feet, And mossy pillows for their heads, And curtains round their fairy beds With blossom-broidered branches sweet.

She feeds them with ambrosial food, And fills their cups with nectared wine; And all her choristers combine To sing their welcome from the wood:

And all that love can do is done, As shown to them in countless ways: She kindles to the brighter blaze The fireside of the world--the sun.

And with her own soft, trembling hands, In many a calm and cool retreat, She laves the dust that soils their feet In coming from the distant lands.

Or, leading down some sinuous path, Where the shy stream's encircling heights Shut out all prying eyes, invites Her lily daughters to the bath.

There, with a mother's harmless pride, Admires them sport the waves among: Now lay their ivory limbs along The buoyant bosom of the tide.

Now lift their marble shoulders o'er The rippling gla.s.s, or sink with fear, As if the wind approaching near Were some wild wooer from the sh.o.r.e.

Or else the parent turns to these, The younglings born beneath her eye, And hangs the baby-buds close by, In wind-rocked cradles from the trees.

And as the branches fall and rise, Each leafy-folded swathe expands: And now are spread their tiny hands, And now are seen their starry eyes.

But soon the feast concludes the day, And yonder in the sun-warmed dell, The happy circle meet to tell Their labours since the bygone May.

A bright-faced youth is first to raise His cheerful voice above the rest, Who bears upon his hardy breast A golden star with silver rays:[109]

Worthily won, for he had been A traveller in many a land, And with his slender staff in hand Had wandered over many a green:

Had seen the Shepherd Sun unpen Heaven's fleecy flocks, and let them stray Over the high-pealed Himalay, Till night shut up the fold again:

Had sat upon a mossy ledge, O'er Baiae in the morning's beams, Or where the sulphurous crater steams Had hung suspended from the edge: