Once more, lov’d solace of my lonely hours,

Would I renew my intercourse with thee,

Suspended for a time—while Spring's gay flowers,

Her bursting foliage, and her songs of glee

Allured me from my task to budding bowers,

To shady lane, green copse, or blossom’d lea;—

In the fond hope, but not more fond than vain,

Their charms might lend fresh vigour to my strain.

Mistaken thought! To me shall come no more

The once blithe impulse of a vernal day;

Nor can fair nature's countless charms restore

Aught of congenial freshness to my lay;

The sanguine flush of youth's bright morn is o’er,

The fairy dreams of fancy pass’d away;—

And were they still my own they could not lend

One living charm with thy deep truths to blend.

Not that I darkly view, or lightly prize,

The beauties and the harmonies of Spring;

Yet is there what green earth, nor laughing skies,

Nor blooming flowers, nor song of birds can bring

Over the spirit;—hid from human eyes

Deep in the heart, like a far holier thing

Than outward nature's richest stores can yield,

The fount of thought and feeling is unseal’d.

And he who writes of themes which must endure

When times and seasons shall have run their course,

Whose song is truth, unchangeable and sure,

If he aright would feel its truest force,

Must drink of streams unperishing and pure

Which issue from a deeper, holier source;

Looking beyond the fading things of time,

To those which are eternal and sublime.

O! may I now, with no misgiving dread,

Resume the task of many a winter night;

Nor deem devotion's purer influence fled

Because no inly-answ’ring flood of light

From Spring's young glory on my soul is shed:

The just shall walk by faith, and not by sight!

And he who seeks to frame a heavenly song

Through conscious weakness may be render’d strong.

Strong in the might and strength of Him, alone,

Whose spirit down the vale of vision swept,