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The subject proposed. Inscribed to the Countess of Ilertford. The
Season is dorcribed as it affects the various parts of Nature, ascending rom the lower to the bigher; with digressions arising from the subject. Its influence on inanimate Matrap, on Vegeta. bles, on bruto Animals, and last on Man; concluding with a disguasive from the wild and irregular passion of Love, opposed to that of a pure and happy kind.
COME, gentle SPRING, ethereal Mildness, come,
10 And see where surly WINTER passes off, Far to the north, and calls his ruffian blasts : His blasts obey, and quit the howling hill, The shatter'd forest, and the ravaged vale ; While softer gales succeed, at whose kind touch, 15 Dissolving snows in livid torrents lost, Tho mountains lift their green heads to the sky
As yet the trembling year is unconfirm'd, And Winter oft at eve resumes the breeze, Chills the pale morn, and bids his driving sleets 20 Deform the day delightless : so that scarce The bittern knows his time, with bill ingulf'd, To shake the sounding marsh ; or from the shore The plovers when to scatter o'er the heath, And sing their wild notes to the listening waste. 25
At last from Arics rolls the bounteous sun,
Forth fly the tepid airs; and unconfined,
While thro’ the neighbouring fields the sower stalks,
Be gracious, Heaven! for now laborious man
Disdaining little delicacies, seized
Ye generous Britons, venerate the plough!
75 And be the' exhaustless granary of a world !
Nor only through the lenient air this change,
From the moist meadow to the wither'd hill, Led by the breeze, the vivid verdure runs, And swells and deepens to the cherish'd eye. The hawthorn whitens; and the juicy groves Put forth their buds, unfolding by degrees, 90 Till the whole leafy forest stands display'd, In full luxuriance, to the sighing gales : Where the deer rustle through the twining brake, And the birds sing concoald. At once array'd In all the colours of the flushing year,
95 By Nature's swift and secret working hand, The garden lows, and fills the liberal air With lavish fragrance ; while the promised fruit Lies yet a little embryo, unperceived, Within its crimson folds. Now from the town, 100 Buried in smoke and sleep and nois'me damps,