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A THOUGHT FOR MARCH 1860
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A THOUGHT FOR MARCH 1860.

Yon happy blackbird's note the rushing wind
Quells not, nor disconcerts his golden tongue,
That breaks my morning dream with well-known song ;
How many a roaring March I've left behind.
Whose blasts, all-spirited with notes and trills,
Blew over peaceful England ! and, ere long.
Another March will come these hills among.
To clash the lattices and whirl the mills :
But what shall be ere then ? Ambition's lust
Is broad awake, and gazing from a throne
But newly set, counts half the world his own ;
All ancient covenants aside are thrust.
Old landmarks are like scratches in the dust.
His eagles wave their wings, and they are gone.
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