A Song For The Season

A Song For The Season

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OH! linger no more in hut or in hall,

But haste thee now to the glen,

For the young and old have heard the call

Of returning spring again;

See the primrose up! from the violet’s cup,

Drink joy to the vernal year;

And hail her birth with music and mirth,

And a garland wreath to wear.

Behold the mead in its robe of green,

The brake with its budding thorn;

The mountains clad in their heath-bell sheen,

And the fields with brairding corn;

Then haste away to the woodlands gay,

And listen to the wild birds’ song;

When all rejoice, come mingle thy voice,

With that sweet-melodious throng.

The radiant sun now gleaming forth,

With a bright and mellow ray,

Dispels the chill of the icy north,

And unbinds the frozen clay;

The wintry gloom that blights the bloom

Of the garden and parterre,

No more to lower, resigns its power,

To a mild and balmy air.

There’s a health in each breeze that’s passing by,

Careering o’er land and sea;

For it comes from a bright Italian sky,

And beareth that health to thee;

Then why do ye dwell in hall or in cell,

Inhaling a deadly foe?

Come forth to the fields, the fresh soil yields

The peasant his ruddy glow.

Then linger no more in hut or in hall,

But haste thee now to the glen,

And share the gifts that are made for all,

For the spring hath come again;

But the gifts she brings, on roseate wings,

Are nourished with pearly dew;

And live but a while, then die with a smile,

’Til called into life anew.

                               J. Starkey

       Ballina. July 1886.