 | The seasons, in four pastorals |  |
I.SPRING.
I
When, approach'd by the fair dewy fingers of Spring,Swelling buds open first, and look gay;
When the birds on the boughs by their mates sit and sing,
And are danc'd by the breeze on each spray;
II
When gently descending, the rain in soft showers,With its moisture refreshes the ground;
And the drops, as they hang on the plants and the flowers,
Like rich gems beam a lustre around:
III
When the wood-pigeons sit on the branches and coo;And the cuckoo proclaims with his voice,
That Nature marks this for the season to woo,
And for all that can love to rejoice:
IV
In a cottage at night may I spend all my time,In the fields and the meadows all day,
With a maiden whose charms are as yet in their prime,
Young as April, and blooming as May!
V
When the lark with Thrill notes sings aloft in the morn,May my fairest and I sweetly wake,
View the far distant hills, which the sun-beams adorn,
Then arise, and our cottage forsake.
2
VI
When the sun shines so warm, that my charmer and IMay recline on the turf without fear,
Let us there all vain thoughts and ambition defy,
While we breathe the first sweets of the year.
VII
Be this spot on a hill, and a spring from it's sideBubble out, and transparently flow,
Creep gently along in meanders, and glide
Thro' the vale strew'd with daisies below.
VIII
While the bee flies from blossom to blossom, and sips,And the violets their sweetness impart,
Let me hang on her neck, and so taste from her lips
The rich cordial that thrills to the heart.
IX
While the dove sits lamenting the loss of its mate,Which the fowler has caught in his snares,
May we think ourselves bless'd that it is not our fate
To endure such an absence as theirs.
X
May I listen to all her soft, tender, sweet notes,When she sings, and no sounds interfere,
But the warbling of birds, which in stretching their throats
Are at strife to be louder than her.
XI
When the daisies, and cowslips, and primroses blow,And chequer the meads and the lawns,
May we see bounding there the swift light-sooted doe,
And pursue with our eye the young fawns.
XII
When the lapwings, just fledg'd, o'er the turf take their run,And the firstlings are all at their play,
And the harmless young lambs skip about in the fun,
Let us then be as frolick as they.
3
XIII
When I talk of my love, should I chance to espyThat she seems to mistrust what I say,
By a tear that is ready to fall from her eye,
With my lips let me wipe it away.
XIV
If we sit, or we walk, may I cast round my eyes,And let no single beauty escape;
But see none to create so much love and surprize,
As her eyes, and her face, and her shape.
XV
Thus each day let us pass, till the buds turn to leaves,And the meadows around us are mown;
When the lass on the sweet-smelling haycock receives
What she afterwards blushes to own.
XVI
When evenings grow cool, and the flow'rs hang their headsWith the dew, then no longer we'll roam,
With my arm round her waist, in a path thro' the meads,
Let us hasten to find our way home.
XVII
When the birds are at roost, with their heads in their wings,Each one by the side of its mate;
When a mist that arises, a drowsiness brings
Upon all but the owl and the bat:
XVIII
When soft rest is requir'd, and the stars lend their light,And all nature lies quiet and still;
When no sound breaks the sacred repose of the night,
But, at distance, the clack of a mill:
XIX
With peace for our pillow, and free from all noise,So that voices in whispers are known;
Let us give and receive all the nameless soft joys
That are mus'd on by lovers alone.
| The seasons, in four pastorals | |