 | Poetics |  |
37
ODE VII. THE RECONCILIATION.
TO A YOUNG LADY WHO HAD REASON TO BE OFFENDED WITH THE AUTHOR; INVITING HER INTO THE COUNTRY.
Narcissa, why that look severe?
Smiles best become the youthful face,
And kindest thoughts, and maiden grace,
And language gentle, and sincere.
And these, sweet girl, are all your own;
Why look then awkward in a frown?
Smiles best become the youthful face,
And kindest thoughts, and maiden grace,
And language gentle, and sincere.
And these, sweet girl, are all your own;
Why look then awkward in a frown?
See you where winter hastes away?
The melted snows no more are seen;
Lo! nature shews her robe of green;
The redbreast trills its cheerful lay;
And soon the snow-drop shall appear,
Fair herald of the rising year.
The melted snows no more are seen;
Lo! nature shews her robe of green;
The redbreast trills its cheerful lay;
And soon the snow-drop shall appear,
Fair herald of the rising year.
Cease then to frown, and haste along,
To rural scenes, and bring with thee,
The roguish look, the flirt, and glee,
Music, and dance, and sprightly song:
For only then do mortals live,
When pleasure they receive or give.
To rural scenes, and bring with thee,
The roguish look, the flirt, and glee,
Music, and dance, and sprightly song:
For only then do mortals live,
When pleasure they receive or give.
38
Oh! come, and mark each early flower,
Come and together we will rove,
And in your favorite poplar grove,
Hear its first notes the blackbird pour;
Beside the fleecy ewes shall stray,
And new-fall'n lambkins frisk and play.
Come and together we will rove,
And in your favorite poplar grove,
Hear its first notes the blackbird pour;
Beside the fleecy ewes shall stray,
And new-fall'n lambkins frisk and play.
What tho' nor blooms the flowery thorn,
Nor silvery blossoms gem the trees,
Nor fragrant breathes the gentle breeze,
Nor gaudy flowers our walks adorn?
Yet like the morning's dawning light,
The year's first buddings shall delight.
Nor silvery blossoms gem the trees,
Nor fragrant breathes the gentle breeze,
Nor gaudy flowers our walks adorn?
Yet like the morning's dawning light,
The year's first buddings shall delight.
But should the snows again arise,
The heav'ns grow thick, and wild winds roar,
Our pleasures yield not to their power,
We will not heed the fickle skies:
At home we'll read, and dance, and sing,
And thus enjoy a constant spring.
The heav'ns grow thick, and wild winds roar,
Our pleasures yield not to their power,
We will not heed the fickle skies:
At home we'll read, and dance, and sing,
And thus enjoy a constant spring.
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