[This and the following poem originated in the lines, "How delicate the leafy veil," etc. My daughter and I left Rydal Mount upon a tour through our mountains, with Mr. and Mrs. Carr,[423] in the month of May, 1826, and as we were going up the Vale of Newlands I was struck with the appearance of the little chapel gleaming through the veil of half-opened leaves; and the feeling which was then conveyed to my mind was expressed in the stanza referred to above. As in the case of _Liberty_ and _Humanity_, my first intention was to write only one poem, but subsequently I broke it into two, making additions to each part so as to produce a consistent and appropriate whole.--I. F.] In 1835, included in the Poems on _Yarrow Revisited_, etc. In 1837, one of the "Poems of Sentiment and Reflection."--ED. While from the purpling east departs The star that led the dawn, Blithe Flora from her couch upstarts, For May is on the lawn,[424] A quickening hope, a freshening glee, 5 Foreran the expected Power, Whose first-drawn breath, from bush and tree, Shakes off that pearly shower. All Nature welcomes Her whose sway Tempers the year's extremes; 10 Who scattereth lustres o'er noon-day, Like morning's dewy gleams; While mellow warble, sprightly trill, The tremulous heart excite; And hums the balmy air to still 15 The balance of delight. Time was, blest Power! when youths and maids At peep of dawn would rise, And wander forth in forest glades Thy birth to solemnize. 20 Though mute the song--to grace the rite Untouched the hawthorn bough, Thy Spirit triumphs o'er the slight; Man changes, but not Thou! Thy feathered Lieges bill and wings 25 In love's disport employ; Warmed by thy influence, creeping things Awake to silent joy: Queen art thou still for each gay plant Where the slim wild deer roves; 30 And served in depths where fishes haunt Their own mysterious groves. Cloud-piercing peak, and trackless heath, Instinctive homage pay; Nor wants the dim-lit cave a wreath 35 To honour thee, sweet May! Where cities fanned by thy brisk airs Behold a smokeless sky, Their puniest flower-pot-nursling dares To open a bright eye. 40 And if, on this thy natal morn, The pole, from which thy name Hath not departed, stands forlorn Of song and dance and game; Still from the village-green a vow 45 Aspires to thee addrest, Wherever peace is on the brow, Or love within the breast.