This day, the sweetest of the year,
Hope-lov’d—in memory treasur’d dear—
Glad-utter’d by each tongue—
When friends, long parted, warmly greet,
And bonds of love, more kindly meet,
And age once more seems young,—
Tells of a fond-remember’d time,
When life exulted in its prime,
Here bless’d with golden dreams.
Hail! walls, where peace and joy abide,
Bowers, gardens, cloth’d with summer’s pride
And ye mead-loving streams.
Those cupolas,—where morning’s smile
Plays bright,—that noble central pile—
Gigantic in embrace;
Whose wings on either side extend,
To guard, to cherish, and befriend
The tender rising race:—
The green—that sport-inviting ground,
The shed—where skippers lightly bound
While whizz their cords in air,—
To me, like well-known friends, are dear,
Who once was blithe as any here,
And knew not more of care.
Thought rushes from its secret springs,
While memory swift before me brings
The scenes of former years;—
When here the first firm stone was laid,
The virtues lent their holiest aid,
Mov’d by the foundling’s tears,
Benevolence, with offer’d dower,
And Pity,—gentle soothing power,
Smil’d kindly on the place:
And Charity,—of higher birth,
Descending gracious, came on earth,
To feed the helpless race.
Time saw a change—for here, the mind
As yet in chains of sloth confin’d,
Assum’d its noble throne:—
A people came—who once withstood
Reproach and hate, while humbly good,
They bow’d to One alone.
Here, choosing learning’s pleasant seat
Within this order-ruled retreat,
They placed their offspring dear,—
Who, train’d with care by guardians kind,
Are taught to store with Truth the mind,—
And her pure laws revere.
The fair, the serious, the gay,
Plain, neat their garb—are seen to-day—
Beauty unplum’d is here:
Yet, simpler were their sires of old,
Who, strong in toil, unflinching, bold,
Walk’d firm, with Truth severe.
Not the bare word, nor barer form,
Sustain’d them in their morn of storm,
Heaven was their light—their guide;
So long as men on Heaven rely,
They will the worst of foes defy—
Strife—fraud—ensnaring pride.
Thus warm my feelings as I gaze
On these dear scenes of early days,
Where my young mind acquird
The seeds of that augmenting store,
Which daily culture ripen’d more,
While glowing hope inspir'd.
Yet, here, what hours I mourn as lost:
Since then, by cheerful breezes toss’d,
All lore was laid at rest;
Till late, once more the flame aspir’d,
By some strange secret impulse fir'd,
Too strong to be repress’d.
Where’er around I cast my eyes,
What long forgotten thoughts arise,—
A rapid, fleeting train:
The well-known grounds I traverse o’er,
Each room—each favourite haunt explore,
I feel a boy again.
The youngsters, eyeing my advance,
With their peculiar schoolboy’s glance,
Their varied sports pursue;
Unknown to me each prying face,
Save that in some a kindred trace
Of former friends I view.
To thee, though not the first of spring’s young race,
The earliest wild flower, greeting yet mine eye;
Ev’n ere the crocus bursts in golden dye,
Or primrose pale unveils its modest face—
To thee small celandine I yield first place.
For thou dost greet me, earliest of the band,
That comes as sweeteners, after storms and cares.
Remembrance of past pleasures! moments bland,
Pledge of rich joys the coming season bears!
Well might thy starry cup of golden bloom—
Thy lowly virtues—one pure mind awake,
Who sought, before the art-emblazon’d dome,
The flower-crowned mountain, and the reedy lake—
Thee! hallow’d Wordsworth sang—I love thee for his sake.