The Poetical Works of John Scott

Stern Winter hence with all his train removes,
And cheerful skies and limpid streams are seen;
Thick-sprouting foliage decorates the groves;
Reviving herbage clothes the fields with green.

Yet lovelier scenes th' approaching months prepare;
Kind Spring's full bounty soon will be display'd;
The smile of beauty ev'ry vale shall wear;
The voice of song enliven ev'ry shade.

O Fancy, paint not coming days too fair!
Oft for the prospects sprightly May should yield,
Rain-pouring clouds have darken'd all the air,
Or snows untimely whiten'd o'er the field:

But should kind Spring her wonted bounty show'r,
The smile of beauty, and the voice of song;
If gloomy thought the human mind o'erpow'r,
Ev'n vernal hours glide unenjoy'd along.

I shun the scenes where madd'ning passion raves,
Where Pride and Folly high dominion hold,
And unrelenting Avarice drives her slaves
O'er prostrate Virtue in pursuit of gold.

The grassy lane, the wood-surrounded field,
The rude stone fence with fragrant wall-flow'rs gay,
The clay-built cot, to me more pleasure yield
Than all the pomp imperial domes display:

And yet even here, amid these secret shades,
These simple scenes of unreprov'd delight,
Affliction's iron hand my breast invades,
And Death's dread dart is ever in my sight.

While genial suns to genial show'rs succeed,
(The air all mildness, and the earth all bloom);
While herds and flocks range sportive o'er the mead,
Crop the sweet herb, and snuff the rich perfume;

O why alone to hapless man deny'd
To taste the bliss inferior beings boast?
O why this fate, that fear and pain divide
His few short hours on earth's delightful coast?

Ah cease—no more of Providence complain!
'Tis sense of guilt that wakes the mind to woe,
Gives force to fear, adds energy to pain,
And palls each joy by Heav'n indulg'd below:

Why else the smiling infant-train so blest,
Ere ill propension ripens into sin,
Ere wild desire inflames the youthful breast,
And dear-bought knowledge ends the peace within?

As to the bleating tenants of the field,
As to the sportive warblers on the trees,
To them their joys sincere the seasons yield,
And all their days and all their prospects please;

Such mine, when first, from London's crowded streets,
Rov'd my young steps to Surry's wood-crown'd hills,
O'er new-blown meads that breath'd a thousand sweets,
By shady coverts and by chrystal rills.

O happy hours, beyond recov'ry fled!
What share I now that can your loss repay,
While o'er my mind these glooms of thought are spread,
And veil the light of life's meridian ray?

Is there no Power this darkness to remove?
The long-lost joys of Eden to restore?
Or raise our views to happier seats above,
Where fear and pain and death shall be no more?

Yes, those there are who know a Saviour's love
The long-lost joys of Eden can restore,
And raise their views to happier seats above,
Where fear and pain and death shall be no more:

These grateful share the gifts of Nature's hand;
And in the varied scenes that round them shine
(Minute and beautiful, or rude and grand),
Admire th' amazing workmanship divine.

Blows not a flow'ret in th' enamel'd vale,
Shines not a pebble where the riv'let strays,
Sports not an insect on the spicy gale,
But claims their wonder and excites their praise.

For them ev'n vernal Nature looks more gay,
For them more lively hues the fields adorn;
To them more fair the fairest smile of Day,
To them more sweet the sweetest breath of Morn.

They feel the bliss that Hope and Faith supply;
They pass serene th' appointed hours that bring
The Day that wafts them to the realms on high,
The Day that centers in Eternal Spring.

University of Virginia Library

ELEGY I. Written at the Approach of Spring.