AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 65 
west, and more than thirty degrees from north to south; 
though, from local circumstances, there may be interme- 
diate tracts in this immense range, which they seldom 
visit.—J6. 
ODE TO MAY. 
BY CHARLES WEST THOMSON. 
I. 
Tue winter is past and the rain is o’er, 
The flowers appear on the earth once more— 
And Nature from icy fetters free, 
Starts into life, and song and glee— 
There’s a gentle breeze comes over the land, 
From the warm south-west by the Zephyrs fann’d, 
And the frosts arouse when they hear the sound, 
And commence their march, for the Arctic bound— 
A genial softness spreads o’er the scene, 
And the hills begin to resume their green, 
And from the sunny realms of day 
Comes fleet o’er the mountains the lovely May. 
If. 
At her approach the earth awakes, 
And puts her rosy garment on, 
And from her hand of beauty shakes 
Sweet dew-drops o’er the smiling lawn. 
The primrose peeps from its lowly bed, 
And the fern is bright on the far-spread heath, 
And the cowslip is crushed beneath your tread, 
As you search the meadow to bind a wreath. 
The young leaves burst from the dark gray trees, 
Like youth and age together entwined, 
And spreading their petals to court the breeze, 
Soon cover with beauty the mossy rind— 
The cherry tree stands like a ghost in the wood, 
Enveloped in blossoms as white as snow, 
While numberless others their forms obtrude, 
All cover’d with leaves of a crimson glow. 
Ill. 
Now from the hills—the sunny hills— 
Come bounding down the mountain rills, 
With laughter rude and revelry, 
Like young fawns, joying to be free 
From the ice-prison where they lay, 
While winter o’er the land had sway. 
From the deep fountains where, unseen, 
They crept the rugged roots between, 
They come with gay and gallant bound, 
To irrigate and bless the ground ; 
Cheering the woods with pleasant chimes, 
That tell of balmy summer times, 
Q 
When heaven is bright and earth is gay, 
And clouds and storms have passed away— 
That tell of peaceful moon-light eves, 
With soft winds rustling in the leaves, 
And odours that ascend above, 
And tranquillize the soul to love. 
IV. 
The sun from his orient chamber 
Comes early to drink the dew, 
And spreads his bright rays, like clear amber, 
On forest and mountain blue— 
All Nature looks gay at his coming, 
The mists roll away from the hills, 
And insects are cheerily humming, 
Tn tune with the murmuring rills; 
The cattle in quietness going, 
To the meadows are winding their way, - 
And utter their joyous lowing, 
To welcome the coming of May. 
We 
But hark! the voice of melody, that breaks 
In gushing fulness from the shady grove, 
Where the wild warbler of the woodland wakes 
Once more his song of harmony and love; 
The lively blackbird and the plaintive dove, 
The jay—the lark, and all the numerous train 
That haunt the earth below or air above, 
All send their varied notes of joy again, 
Glad to resume the woods, from wandering o’er the main. 
And when the first gay tint of morn is seen, 
Fringing with ruddy light the orient cloud, 
Amid the forest shades and alleys green, 
O how they greet the skies with clamours loud— 
And when the evening sun, in glory proud, 
Sinks to his gorgeous rest and shuts the day, 
Thro’ the calm twilight how the happy crowd 
Twitter on restless wing from spray to spray, 
Without a grief to mar the bliss that lights their way. 
VI. 
Hail, gentle May! the rosy queen of flowers, 
Mistress of silent dew, and pearly showers, 
Whose step, in freshness, on the verdant lawn, 
Tells that the winter’s rage is past and gone, 
Thee we re-welcome to the woods and vales, 
The ambrosial gardens, and the hedgy dales— 
The uplifted mountains joy when thou hast smiled 
Along their dark ravines and dingles wild ; 
And the fair valleys laugh when thou art seen 
Spreading about their plains thy mantle green— 
The lowing cattle on a thousand hills, 
With new delight thy balmy presence fills,— 
The warbling birds, that sport from tree to tree, 
Sing their wild songs of happiness to thee— 
