ODE ON THE SPRING. L O! where the rofy-bofom'd Hours, Fair VENUS' train appear, Disclose the long-expecting flow'rs, And wake the purple year! The Attic warbler pours her throat, Refponfive to the cuckow's note, The untaught harmony of Spring : While, whifp'ring pleasure as they fly, Cool Zephyrs thro' the clear, blue sky Their gather'd fragrance fling. Where'er the oak's thick branches ftretch A broader, browner fhade; Where'er the rude and mofs-grown becch O'er-canopies the glade : Befide fome water's rufhy brink With me the Muse shall fit, and think (At a bank O'ercanopy'd with luscious woodbine. Shakefp. Midf. Night's Dream. (At eafe reclin'd, in ruftic ftate) How vain the ardour of the Crowd, How low, how little are the Proud, How indigent the Great! Still is the toiling hand of Care : Yet hark, how thro' the peopled air The infect youth are on the wing, And float amid the liquid noon Some lightly o'er the current skim, B 3 : Το **" Nare per æftatem liquidam + Virgil. Georg. lib. 4. fporting with quick glance Shew to the fun their wav'd coats dropt with gold. Milton's Paradife Loft, book 7. |