| 208 Poetry.
For the Times and Seasons.
Ode to Spring.
By Miss Eliza R. Snow
Joyous spring! with Joy I greet thee- With unnumber'd speeches ringing-
In thy smiles, I smile to meet thee, There the sportive tribes are singing
Now stern winter's frown is gone; Tender sonnets to their loves.
Nature welcomes thy retiring-
Laying off her garb of mourning, There the city's heart rejoices-
Puts her bridal tresses on. Business with her thousand voices,
With improvement steps apace:
Insects round my feet are humming- Architecture is unfolding,
Music on each gale is coming Specimens of richest moulding,
With a soft, melodious sound: Rising up with lofty grace.
Beauty wakens from its slumbers,
And in countless, flowing numbers Welcome spring! estranged from sadness-
Pleasure's streams are eddying round. Paragon of nature's gladness!
Welcome to a heart like mine:
Mingled flowrets gaily blooming, Other seasons have their pleasures-
With the twilight breeze perfuming, Autumn has its dropping trasures [treasures]-
Glade and glen: the woodland grow; Hope's fair prospect, spring is thine.
For the Times and Seasons.
The Whirlwind.
By S. A. Prior.
There was a furious whirlwind felt in the town of Newbury, Schuyler county Illinois, on the 21st of April 1843, which tore up the trees by the roots, blew down several houses, and killed some cattle.
Deep sable curtains vail [veil] the sky, The yielding thickets groan and bend,
Dead stillness reigns in air, Their boughs are toss'd and twirl'd;
A dreadful gloom shrowds [shrouds] all on high, The wind, the sturdy oaks do rend,
And rides triumphant there. Which to the earth are hurl'd.
The winds are hushed, and silent rest, The winds now hurry on amain,
Nature has sunk to sleep, The house its cover yields;
The zephyr breathes not o er the breast Dire desolation strews the plain,
Of the unconscious deep. And fragments strew the fields.
The leaf scarce trembles in the grove, The bleeding cattle groan and die
Nor flag on yonder tower; Beneath this awful stroke;
And looing [lowing] stands the loving drove, Their horrid, mangled bodies lie
Aw'd by the threat'ning hour. Beneath the prostrate oak.
Yet still mid natures' calm profound, The winds have spent their awful force,
Which darkness fain would keep, Their dreadful conquest won;
We hear a burst of awful sound And devastation marks their course,
Fall on creations sleep. And now their work is done.
Now hurled amid the darken'd air, A house or two by it destroyed-
The whirlwind in the sky The men with terror filled;
Plunges the lofty trees afar, And many animals annoyed,
In grandeur borne [born] on high. And two or three were killed.
The Times and Seasons, is edited by John Taylor.
Printed and published about the first and fifteenth of every month, on the corner of Water and Ban Streets, Nauvoo, Hancock County, Illinois.
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