 | Songs, comic and satyrical |  |
MAY.
Bleak
Winter is drove, by warm winds, to the North,
And Spring's early pencil gay colours the earth;
Each blossom expands its pied leaves to the day,
Creation's new cloath'd in the livery of May.
And Spring's early pencil gay colours the earth;
Each blossom expands its pied leaves to the day,
Creation's new cloath'd in the livery of May.
As thus, in soliloquy, rambling along,
I look'd tow'rds the wood, there I heard a sweet song;
The leaves gently fann'd to and fro' by the breeze,
The air a soft symphony play'd through the trees.
I look'd tow'rds the wood, there I heard a sweet song;
The leaves gently fann'd to and fro' by the breeze,
The air a soft symphony play'd through the trees.
As a hound after hair the long meadow o'er leaps,
It was something like love which gave speed to my steps;
I beat through the thicket, upon the game sprung,
And too soon had a view of the syren who sung.
It was something like love which gave speed to my steps;
I beat through the thicket, upon the game sprung,
And too soon had a view of the syren who sung.
74
Oh! how my heart beat, how alarm'd was my pride,
To behold a young rustic fix'd close at her side;
They toy'd and they prattled, 'twas innocent play,
Their rosey cheeks spoke all the warmth of new May.
To behold a young rustic fix'd close at her side;
They toy'd and they prattled, 'twas innocent play,
Their rosey cheeks spoke all the warmth of new May.
The lad and the lass look'd like Eden's first pair,
And I, scowling, stood just as Satan did there.
Her tenderness hateful, his fondness as bad,
But their give-and-take kissings,—O God!—I grew mad.
And I, scowling, stood just as Satan did there.
Her tenderness hateful, his fondness as bad,
But their give-and-take kissings,—O God!—I grew mad.
I turn'd from the sight, then return'd in despair,
And pretended a cure by despising the fair;
On both bestow'd curses, went raving away,
But I stopp'd at each step, nor cou'd go, nor cou'd stay.
And pretended a cure by despising the fair;
On both bestow'd curses, went raving away,
But I stopp'd at each step, nor cou'd go, nor cou'd stay.
Home heavily sighing, I halted along,
Each bird jarr'd my head with its out-of-tune song:
The late pleasing landscapes appear'd in decay,
The scene to December was chang'd from new May.
Each bird jarr'd my head with its out-of-tune song:
The late pleasing landscapes appear'd in decay,
The scene to December was chang'd from new May.
In my books I expected some nostrum to find,
But learning to love has small share in the mind.
No morals I met there the wonder cou'd work,
But instinct suggested—to draw a long cork.
But learning to love has small share in the mind.
No morals I met there the wonder cou'd work,
But instinct suggested—to draw a long cork.
As sorrow is dry, the best thing I cou'd do,
To make my cure perfect, was—drawing out two:
So wine before wenching hereafter I'll say,
For wine's good in all months, as well as in May.
To make my cure perfect, was—drawing out two:
So wine before wenching hereafter I'll say,
For wine's good in all months, as well as in May.
| Songs, comic and satyrical | |