Thee, best belov'd! the virgin train await and festal rites, and joy to rove
Thy flowery lawns among,
And vales, and dewy lawns,
With untir'd feet, and cull thy earliest sweets, To weave fresh garlands for the glowing brow Of him, the favour'd youth,
Who prompts the whisper'd sigh.
Unlock thy copious stores; those tender showers That drop their sweetness on the infant buds; And silent dews that swell
The milky ear's green stem,
And feed the flowering osier's early shoots: And call those winds, which through the whispering boughs,
With warm and pleasant breath
Salute the blowing flowers.
Now let me sit beneath the whitening thorn,
And mark thy spreading tints steal o'er the dale; And watch, with patient eye,
Thy fair unfolding charms.
O nymph approach! while yet the temperate sun, With bashful forehead, through the cool moist air Throws his young maiden beams,
And with chaste kisses woos
The earth's fair bosom; while the streaming veil Of lucid clouds, with kind and frequent shade, Protects thy modest blooms
Sweet is thy reign, but short; the red dog-star Shall scorch thy tresses, and the mower's scythe, Thy greens thy flowrets all,
Remorseless shall destroy.
Reluctant shall I bid thee, then, farewell: For, oh, not all that Autumn's lap contains, Nor Summer's ruddiest fruits,
Can aught for thee atone.
Fair Spring! whose simplest promise more delights Than all their largest wealth, and through the heart, Each joy and new-born hope With softest influence breathes.
THE north-east spends his
Within his iron cave, the effusive south
Warns the wide air, and o'er the void of heaven Breathes the big clouds with vernal showers distent. At first, a dusky wreath, they seem to rise Scarce staining ether; but by swift degrees, In heaps on heaps, the doubling vapour sails Along the loaded sky; and, mingled deep, Sits on the horizon round, a settled gloom; Not such as wintry storms on mortals shed; Oppressing life: but lovely, gentle, kind, And full of every hope, and every joy,
FROM brightening fields of ether fair disclos'd, Child of the sun, refulgent Summer comes In pride of youth, and felt through Nature's depth : He comes, attended by the sultry hours,
And ever fanning breezes, on his
way; While from his ardent look, the turning Spring Averts her blushful face; and earth and skies, All smiling, to his hot dominion leaves.
Hence let me haste into the mid-wood shade, Where scarce a sun-beam wanders through the gloom,
And, on the dark-green grass, beside the brink Of haunted stream, that by the roots of oak Rolls o'er the rocky channel, lie at large, And sing the glories of the circling year. Resounds the living surface of the ground, Nor undelightful is the ceaseless hum To him who muses through the woods at noon : Or drowsy shepherd, as he lies reclin'd
With half-shut eyes, beneath the floating shade Of willows grey, close crowding o'er the brook. Gradual from these, what numerous kinds descend! Evading e'en the microscopic eye!
Full nature swarms with life; one wondrous mass Of animals, or atoms organiz'd;
Waiting the vital breath, when parent-heaven
Shall bid his spirit blow. The hoary fen,
In putrid streams, emits the living cloud Of pestilence. Through subterraneous cells, Where searching sunbeams scarce can find a way, Earth animated heaves. The flowery leaf Wants not its soft inhabitants. Secure Within its winding citadel, the stone
Holds multitudes. But chief, the forest boughs, That dance unnumber'd to the playful breeze, The downy orchard, and the melting pulp Of mellow fruit, the nameless nations feed Of evanescent insects. Where the pool Stands mantled o'er with green, invisible, Amid the floating verdure, millions stray. Each liquid, too, whether it pierces, soothes, Inflames, refreshes, or exalts the taste, With various forms abounds. Nor is the stream Of purest crystal, nor the lucid air, Though one transparent vacancy it seem, Void of their unseen people. These, conceal'd By the kind art of the Creator, 'scape The grosser eye of man; for if the worlds, In worlds inclos'd, should on his senses burst, From cates ambrosial, and the nectar'd bowl, He would, abhorrent, turn; and in dead night When silence sleeps o'er all, be stunned with noise.
HARK! where the sweeping scythe now rips along : Each sturdy mower emulous and strong, Whose writhing form meridian heat defies, Bends o'er his work, and every sinew plies; Prostrates the waving treasure at his feet, But spares the rising clover short and sweet; The unpeopled dwelling mourns its tenants stray'd. E'en the domestic, laughing, dairy-maid Flies to the field, the general toil to share, Meanwhile the farmer quits his elbow chair; His cool brick floor, his pitcher, and his ease, And braves the sultry beams, and gladly sees His gates thrown open, and his team abroad; The ready group attendant on his word, To turn the swarth, the quivering load to rear, Or ply the busy rake the land to clear.
Summer's light garb itself now cumbrous grown, Each his thin doublet in the shade throws down, Where oft the mastiff sculks with half-shut eye, And rouses at the stranger passing by.
Now, midst the boldest triumph of her worth, Nature herself invites the reapers forth;
Draws the keen sickle from its twelvemonth's rest, And gives that ardour which in every breast,
From infancy to age alike appears,
When the first sheaf its plumy top uprears.
No rake takes here what heaven on all bestows,
Children of want, to you its bounty flows!
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