A Thought for March, 1860.

Yon blackbird’s merry heart the rushing wind1
Quells not, nor disconcerts his golden tongue,2
That breaks my morning dream with well-known song.3
Full many a breezy March I’ve left behind,4
Whose gales, all spirited with notes and trills,5
Blew over peaceful England ; and, ere long,6
Another March will come these hills among,7
To clash the lattices, and whirl the mills ;8
But what shall be ere then ?  Ambition’s lust9
Is broad awake, and, gazing from a throne10
But newly-set, counts half the world his own ;—11
All ancient covenants aside are thrust12
Old land-marks are like scratches in the dust13
His eagles wave their wings and they are gone !14