{"id":68828,"date":"2014-03-27T18:00:38","date_gmt":"2014-03-27T22:00:38","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=68828"},"modified":"2014-03-27T18:00:38","modified_gmt":"2014-03-27T22:00:38","slug":"michael-bruces-elegy-written-in-spring","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2014\/03\/27\/michael-bruces-elegy-written-in-spring\/","title":{"rendered":"Michael Bruce\u2019s \u201cElegy\u2014Written in Spring\u201d"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"Marianna<\/a>

Edinburgh Castlehill in spring. Photo: Marianna Saska, via Flickr<\/p><\/div>\n

Michael Bruce has a purchase on the springtime. He was born on March 27, 1746, just as spring was coming to Scotland, and his most enduring poem is \u201cElegy\u2014Written in Spring.\u201d The guy knows greenery.<\/p>\n

Bruce\u2014a Scotsman, as you may have guessed\u2014was the son of a weaver; growing up, \u201chis attendance at school<\/a> was often interrupted because he had to herd cattle on the Lomond Hills in summer, and this early companionship with nature greatly influenced his poetry.\u201d<\/p>\n

And so it did: \u201cElegy\u201d is a plain-and-simple celebration of companionship with nature; it\u2019s unadorned and all the more beautiful for it. Bruce wrote the poem toward the end of his life, and its last stanza, which turns to gaze at death, is quietly devastating, especially since it comes after so many words devoted to the bliss and beauty of pastoral Scotland. The images here are classically, achingly bucolic: flowers, plains, furze. Verdant ground, ample leaves, and dewy lawns. On a day like today, when, in New York, the new season struggles to shuck off the dreariness of the last, \u201cElegy\u201d is an ideal balm. If only it could bring the balmy weather with it. <\/p>\n

\n

\u2018Tis past: the iron North has spent his rage;
Stern Winter now resigns the length\u2019ning day;
The stormy howlings of the winds assuage,
And warm o\u2019er ether western breezes play. <\/p>\n

Of genial heat and cheerful light the source,
From southern climes, beneath another sky,
The sun, returning, wheels his golden course:
Before his beams all noxious vapours fly. <\/p>\n

Far to the north grim Winter draws his train,
To his own clime, to Zembla\u2019s frozen shore;
Where, throned on ice, he holds eternal reign;
Where whirlwinds madden, and where tempests roar. <\/p>\n

Loosed from the bands of frost, the verdant ground
Again puts on her robe of cheerful green\u2014
Again puts forth her flowers; and all around,
Smiling, the cheerful face of spring is seen. <\/p>\n

Behold! the trees new deck their wither\u2019d boughs;
Their ample leaves, the hospitable plane,
The taper elm, and lofty ash disclose;
The blooming hawthorn variegates the scene. <\/p>\n

The lily of the vale, of flowers the queen,
Puts on the robe she neither sew\u2019d nor spun;
The birds on ground, or on the branches green,
Hop to and fro, and glitter in the sun. <\/p>\n

Soon as o\u2019er eastern hills the morning peers,
From her low nest the tufted lark upsprings,
And, cheerful singing, up the air she steers;
Still high she mounts, still loud and sweet she sings. <\/p>\n

On the green furze, clothed o\u2019er with golden blooms,
That fill the air with fragrance all around,
The linnet sits, and tricks his glossy plumes,
While o\u2019er the wild his broken notes resound. <\/p>\n

While the sun journeys down the western sky,
Along the green sward, mark\u2019d with Roman mound,
Beneath the blithesome shepherd\u2019s watchful eye,
The cheerful lambkins dance and frisk around. <\/p>\n

Now is the time for those who wisdom love,
Who love to walk in virtue\u2019s flowery road,
Along the lovely paths of spring to rove,
And follow nature up to nature\u2019s God. <\/p>\n

Thus Zoroaster studied nature\u2019s laws;
Thus Socrates, the wisest of mankind;
Thus Heaven-taught Plato traced th\u2019 Almighty cause,
And left the wond\u2019ring multitude behind. <\/p>\n

Thus Ashley gather\u2019d academic bays;
Thus gentle Thomson, as the seasons roll,
Thought them to sing the great Creator\u2019s praise,
And bear their poet\u2019s name from pole to pole. <\/p>\n

Thus have I walk\u2019d along the dewy lawn;
My frequent foot the blooming wild hath worn;
Before the lark I\u2019ve sung the beauteous dawn,
And gather\u2019d health from all the gales of morn. <\/p>\n

And, even when winter chill\u2019d the aged year
I wander\u2019d lonely o\u2019er the hoary plain:
Though frosty Boreas warn\u2019d me to forbear,
Boreas, with all his tempests, warn\u2019d in vain. <\/p>\n

Then, sleep my nights, and quiet bless\u2019d my days;
I fear\u2019d no loss, my mind was all my store;
No anxious wishes e\u2019er disturb\u2019d my ease;
Heaven gave content and health\u2014I ask\u2019d no more. <\/p>\n

Now, spring returns: but not to me returns
The vernal joy my better years have known;
Dim in my breast life\u2019s dying taper burns,
And all the joys of life with health are flown.<\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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Bruce\u2014a Scotsman, as you may have guessed\u2014was the son of a weaver; growing up, \u201chis attendance at school was often […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":38,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[4715],"tags":[13350,7221,165,3413,6525],"class_list":["post-68828","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-the-poem-stuck-in-my-head","tag-michael-bruce","tag-poems","tag-poetry","tag-scotland","tag-spring"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\nMichael Bruce\u2019s \u201cElegy\u2014Written in Spring\u201d by Dan Piepenbring<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"March 27, 2014 \u2013 Michael Bruce has a purchase on the springtime. 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