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TO THE FURZE BUSH.
LET Burns and old Chaucer unite
The praise of the Daisy to sing
Let Wordsworth of Celandine write,
And crown her the Queen of the Spring ;
The Hyacinth's classical fame
Let Milton embalm in his verse;
Be mine the glad task to proclaim
The Charms of untrumpeted Furze!
Of all other bloom when bereft,
And Sol wears his wintery screen,
Thy sunshining blossoms are left
To light up the common and green.
0 why should they envy the peer
His perfume of spices and myrrhs,
When the poorest their senses may cheer
With incense diffused from the Furze?
It is bristled with thorns, I confess;
But so is the much-flatter'd Rose :
Is the Sweetbriar lauded the less
Because amid prickles it grows ?
"Twere to cut off an epigram’s point,
Or disfurnish a knight of his spurs,
If we foolishly wish’d to disjoint
Its arms from the lance-bearing Furze. Ye dabblers in mines, who would clutch
THE FIRST OF MARCH.
The bud is in the bough, and the leaf is in the bud,
And Earth 's beginning now in her veins to feel the blood, Which, warm’d by summer suns in th’alembic of the vine,
From her founts will overrun in a ruddy gush of wine.
The perfume and the bloom that shall decorate the flower,
Are quickening in the gloom of their subterranean bower; And the juices meant to feed trees, vegetables, fruits,
Unerringly proceed to their pre-appointed roots.
How awful is the thought of the wonders underground,
Of the mystic changes wrought in the silent, dark profound; How each thing upward tends by necessity decreed, And a world's support depends on the shooting of a seed! The summer 's in her ark, and this sunny-pinion'd day
Is commission'd to remark whether Winter holds her
Go back, thou dove of peace, with the myrtle on thy wing,
Say, that floods and tempests cease and the world is ripe
Thou hast fann'd the sleeping Earth till her dreams are all
And the waters look in mirth for their overhanging
The forest seems to listen for the rustle of its leaves,
And the very skies to glisten in the hope of summer eves.
Thy vivifying spell has been felt beneath the wave,
By the dormouse in its cell, and the mole within its cave; And the summer tribes that creep, or in air expand their
Have started from their sleep at the summons of the