Poems (1791) :: :: University of Virginia Library

Happy verses! that were prest
In fair Ethelinda's breast!
Happy Muse, that didst embrace
The sweet the heav'nly-fragrant place!
Tell me, is the omen true,
Shall the bard arrive there too?

II

Oft thro' my eyes my soul has flown,
And wanton'd on that iv'ry throne:
There with extatic transport burn'd,
And thought it was to heav'n return'd.
Tell me is the omen true,
Shall the body follow too?

III

When first at nature's early birth,
Heav'n sent a man upon the earth,
Ev'n Eden was more fruitful found,
When Adam came to till the ground:
Shall then those breasts be fair in vain,
And only rise to fall again?

IV

No, no, fair nymph—for no such end
Did heav'n to thee its bounty lend;
That breast was ne'er design'd by fate,
For verse, or things inanimate;
Then throw them from that downy bed,
And take the poet in their stead.

On an EAGLE confined in a College Court.

ODE III.

I

Imperial bird, who wont to soar
High o'er the rolling cloud,
Where Hyperborean mountains hoar
Their heads in Ether shroud;—
Thou servant of almighty Jove,
Who, free and swift as thought, could'st rove
To the bleak north's extremest goal;—
Thou, who magnanimous could'st bear
The sovereign thund'rer's arms in air,
And shake thy native pole!—

II

Oh cruel fate! what barbarous hand,
What more than Gothic ire,
At some fierce tyrant's dread command,
To check thy daring fire,
Has plac'd thee in this servile cell,
Where discipline and dulness dwell,
Where genius ne'er was seen to roam;
Where ev'ry selfish soul's at rest,
Nor ever quits the carnal breast,
But lurks and sneaks at home!

III

Tho' dim'd thine eye, and clipt thy wing
So grov'ling! once so great!
The grief-inspired Muse shall sing
In tend'rest lays thy fate.
What time by thee scholastic pride
Takes his precise, pedantic stride,
Nor on thy mis'ry casts a care,
The stream of love ne'er from his heart
Flows out, to act fair pity's part;
But stinks, and stagnates there.

IV

Yet useful still, hold to the throng—
Hold the reflecting glass,—
That not untutor'd at thy wrong
The passenger may pass:
Thou type of wit and sense confin'd,
Cramp'd by the oppressors of the mind,
Who study downward on the ground;
Type of the fall of Greece and Rome;
While more than mathematic gloom,
Envelopes all around.

On the sudden Death of a CLERGYMAN.

ODE IV.

If, like th'Orphean lyre, my song could charm,
And light to life the ashes in the urn,
Fate of his iron dart I would disarm,
Sudden as thy decease should'st thou return,
Recall'd with mandates of despotic sounds,
And arbitrary grief that will not hear of bounds.
But, ah! such wishes, artless Muse, forbear;
'Tis impotence of frantic love,
Th'enthusiastic flight of wild despair,
To hope the Thracian's magic power to prove.
Alas! thy slender vein,
Nor mighty is to move, nor forgetive to feign,
Impatient of a rein,
Thou canst not in due bounds the struggling measures keep,
—But thou alass! canst weep—
Thou canst—and o'er the melancholy bier
Canst lend the sad solemnity a tear.
Hail! to that wretched corse, untenanted and cold,
And hail the peaceful shade loos'd from its irksome hold.
Now let me say thou'rt free,
For sure thou paid'st an heavy tax for life,
While combating for thee,
Nature and mortality
Maintain'd a daily strife.

High, on a slender thread thy vital lamp was plac'd,
Upon the mountain's bleakest brow,
To give a noble light superior was it rais'd,
But more expos'd by eminence it blaz'd;
For not a whistling wind that blew,
Nor the drop descending dew,
But half extinguish'd its fair flame—but now
See—hear the storms tempestuous sweep—
Precipitate it falls—it falls—falls lifeless in the deep.
Cease, cease, ye weeping youth,
Sincerity's soft sighs, and all the tears of truth.
And you, his kindred throng, forbear
Marble memorials to prepare,
And sculptur'd in your breasts his busto wear.
'Twas thus when Israel's legislator dy'd,
No fragile mortal honours were supply'd,
But even a grave denied.
Better than what the pencil's daub can give,
Better than all that Phidias ever wrought,
Is this—that what he taught shall live,
And what he liv'd for ever shall be taught.

On GOOD-NATURE.

ODE V.

I

Hail cherub of the highest Heav'n,
Of look divine, and temper ev'n,
Celestial sweetness, exquisite of mein,
Of ev'ry virtue, ev'ry praise the queen!

II

Soft gracefulness, and blooming youth,
Where, grafted on the stem of truth,
That friendship reigns, no interest can divide,
And great humility looks down on pride.

III

Oh! curse on Slander's vip'rous tongue,
That daily dares thy merit wrong;
Ideots usurp thy title, and thy frame,
Without or virtue, talent, taste, or name.

IV

Is apathy, is heart of steel,
Nor ear to hear, nor sense to feel,
Life idly inoffensive such a grace,
That it shou'd steal thy name and take thy place?

V

No—thou art active—spirit all—
Swifter than lightning, at the call
Of injur'd innocence, or griev'd desert,
And large with liberality thy heart.

VI

Thy appetites in easy tides
(As reason's luminary guides)
Soft flow—no wind can work them to a storm,
Correctly quick, dispassionately warm.

VII

Yet if a transport thou canst feel
'Tis only for thy neighbours weal:
Great, generous acts thy ductile passions move,
And smilingly thou weep'st with joy and love.

VIII

Mild is thy mind to cover shame,
Averse to envy, slow to blame,
Bursting to praise, yet still sincere and free
From flatt'ry's fawning tongue, and bending knee.

IX

Extensive, as from west to east,
Thy love descends from man to beast,
Nought is excluded little, or infirm,
Thou canst with greatness stoop to save a worm.

X

Come, goddess, come with all thy charms
For Oh! I love thee, to my arms—
All, all my actions guide, my fancy feed,
So shall existence then be life indeed.

On ILL-NATURE.

ODE VI.

I.

Ofspring of folly and of pride,
To all that's odious, all that's base allied;
Nurs'd up by vice, by pravity misled,
By pedant affectation taught and bred:
Away, thou hideous hell-born spright,
Go, with thy looks of dark design,
Sullen, sour, and saturnine;
Fly to some gloomy shade, nor blot the goodly light.
Thy planet was remote, when I was born;
'Twas Mercury that rul'd my natal morn,
What time the sun exerts his genial ray,
And ripens for enjoyment every growing day;
When to exist is but to love and sing,
And sprightly Aries smiles upon the spring.

II.

There in yon lonesome heath,
Which Flora, or Sylvanus never knew,
Where never vegetable drank the dew,
Or beast, or fowl attempts to breathe;
Where nature's pencil has no colours laid;
But all is blank, and universal shade;
Contrast to figure, motion, life and light,
There may'st thou vent thy spite,
For ever cursing, and for ever curs'd,
Of all th'infernal crew the worst;
The worst in genius, measure and degree;
For envy, hatred, malice, are but parts of thee.

III.

Or would'st thou change the scene, and quit the den,
Behold the heav'n-deserted fen,
Where spleen, by vapours dense begot and bred,
Hardness of heart, and heaviness of head,
Have rais'd their darksome walls, and plac'd their thorny bed;
There may'st thou all thy bitterness unload,
There may'st thou croak in concert with the toad,
With thee the hollow howling winds shall join,
Nor shall the bittern her base throat deny,
The querulous frogs shall mix their dirge with thine,
Th'ear-piercing hern, the plover screaming high,
Millions of humming gnats fit œstrum shall supply.

IV.

Away—away—behold an hideous band
An herd of all thy minions are at hand,
Suspicion first with jealous caution stalks,
And ever looks around her as she walks,
With bibulous ear imperfect sounds to catch,
And prompt to listen at her neighbours latch.
Next Scandal's meagre shade,
Foe to the virgins, and the poet's fame,
A wither'd time-deflower'd old maid,
That ne'er enjoy'd love's ever sacred flame.
Hypocrisy succeeds with saint-like look,
And elevates her hands and plods upon her book.
Next comes illiberal scrambling Avarice,
Then Vanity and Affectation nice—
See, she salutes her shadow with a bow
As in short Gallic trips she minces by,
Starting antipathy is in her eye,
And squeamishly she knits her scornful brow.
To thee, Ill-Nature, all the numerous group
With lowly reverence stoop—
They wait thy call, and mourn thy long delay,
Away—thou art infectious—haste away.

To the reverend and learned Dr. WEBSTER,

Occasioned by his Dialogues on Anger and Forgiveness.

ODE VII.

I.

'Twas when th'omniscient creative pow'r
Display'd his wonders by a mortal's hand,
And, delegated at th'appointed hour,
Great Moses led away his chosen band;
When Israel's host, with all their stores,
Past thro' the ruby-tinctur'd crystal shores,
The wilderness of waters and of land:
Then persecution rag'd in heav'n's own cause,
Strict justice for the breach of nature's laws,
The legislator held the scythe of fate,
Where'er his legions chanc'd to stray,
Death and destruction mark'd their bloody way;
Immoderate was their rage, for mortal was their hate.

II.

But when the king of righteousness arose,
And on the illumin'd east serenely smil'd,
He shone with meekest mercy on his foes,
Bright as the sun, but as the moon-beams mild;

From anger, fell revenge, and discord free,
He bad war's hellish clangor cease,
In pastoral simplicity and peace,
And shew'd to man that face, which Moses could not see.

III.

Well hast thou, Webster, pictur'd christian love,
And copied our great master's fair design,
But livid Envy would the light remove,
Or croud thy portrait in a nook malign—
The Muse shall hold it up to popular view—
Where the more candid and judicious few
Shall think the bright original they see,
The likeness nobly lost in the identity.

IV.

Oh hadst thou liv'd in better days than these,
E'er to excel by all was deem'd a shame!
Alas! thou hast no modern arts to please,
And to deserve is all thy empty claim.
Else thou'dst been plac'd, by learning, and by wit,
There, where thy dignify'd inferiors sit—
Oh they are in their generations wise,
Each path of interest they have sagely trod,—
To live—to thrive—to rise—and still to rise—
Better to bow to men, than kneel to God.

V.

Behold where poor unmansion'd Merit stands,
All cold, and crampt with penury and pain;
Speechless thro' want, she rears th'imploring hands,
And begs a little bread, but begs in vain;
While Bribery and Dullness, passing by,
Bid her, in sounds barbarian, starve and die.
“Away (they cry) we never saw thy name
“Or in Preferment's List, or that of Fame;
“Away—nor here the fate thou earn'st bewail,
“Who canst not buy a vote, nor hast a soul for sale.”

VI.

Oh Indignation, wherefore wert thou given,
If drowsy Patience deaden all thy rage?—
Yet we must bear—such is the will of heaven;
And, Webster, so prescribes thy candid page.
Then let us hear thee preach seraphic love,
Guide our disgusted thoughts to things above;
So our free souls, fed with divine repast,
(Unmindful of low mortals mean employ)
Shall taste the present, recollect the past,
And strongly hope for every future joy.

EPITHALAMIUM.

ODE VIII.

I.

Descend, descend, ye sweet Aonian maids,
Leave the Parnassian shades,
The joyful Hymeneal sing,
And to a lovelier Fair
Than fiction can devise, or eloquence declare,
Your vocal tributes bring.
And you, ye winged choristers, that fly
In all the pensile gardens of the sky,
Chant thro' th'enamel'd grove,
Stretch from the trembling leaves your little throats,
With all the wild variety of artless notes,
But let each note be love.
Fragrant Flora, queen of May,
All bedight with garlands gay,
Where in the smooth-shaven green
The spangled cowslips variegate the scene,
And the rivulet between,
Whispers, murmurs, sings,
As it stoops, or falls, or springs;
There spread a sofa of thy softest flowers,
There let the bridegroom stay,
There let him hate the light, and curse the day,
And blame the tardy hours.

II.

But see the bride—she comes with silent pace,
Full of majesty and love;
Not with a nobler grace
Look'd the imperial wife of Jove,
When erst ineffably she shone
In Venus' irresistible, enchanting zone.
Phœbus, great god of verse, the nymph observe,
Observe her well;
Then touch each sweetly-trem'lous nerve
Of thy resounding shell:
Her like huntress-Dian paint,
Modest, but without restraint;
From Pallas take her decent pace,
With Venus sweeten all her face,
From the Zephyrs steal her sighs,
From thyself her sun-bright eyes;
Then baffled, thou shalt see,
That as did Daphne thee,
Her charms description's force shall fly,
And by no soft persuasive sounds be brib'd
To come within Invention's narrow eye;
But all indignant shun its grasp, and scorn to be describ'd.

III.

Now see the bridegroom rise,
Oh! how impatient are his joys!
Bring zephyrs to depaint his voice,
Bring lightning for his eyes.

He leaps, he springs, he flies into her arms,
With joy intense,
Feeds ev'ry sense,
And sultanates o'er all her charms.
Oh! had I Virgil's comprehensive strain,
Or sung like Pope, without a word in vain,
Then should I hope my numbers might contain,
Engaging nymph, thy boundless happiness,
How arduous to express!
Such may it last to all eternity:
And may thy lord with thee,
Like two coeval pines in Ida's grove,
That interweave their verdant arms in love,
Each mutual office chearfully perform,
And share alike the sunshine, and the storm;
And ever, as you flourish hand in hand,
Both shade the shepherd and adorn the land,
Together with each growing year arise,
Indissolubly link'd, and climb at last the skies.

ODE IX. The Author apologizes to a Lady, for his being a little Man.

Natura nusquam magis, quam in minimis tota est.
Plin.

Ολιγον τε φιλον τε. Hom.

I

Yes, contumelious fair, you scorn
The amorous dwarf that courts you to his arms,
But ere you leave him quite forlorn,
And to some youth gigantic yield your charms,
Hear him—oh hear him, if you will not try,
And let your judgment check th'ambition of your eye.

II

Say, is it carnage makes the man?
Is to be monstrous really to be great?
Say, is it wise or just to scan
Your lover's worth by quantity, or weight?
Ask your mamma and nurse, if it be so;
Nurse and mamma, I ween, shall jointly answer, no.

III

The less the body to the view,
The soul (like springs in closer durance pent)
Is all exertion, ever new,
Unceasing, unextinguish'd, and unspent;

Still pouring forth executive desire,
As bright, as brisk, and lasting, as the vestal fire.

IV

Does thy young bosom pant for fame;
Woud'st thou be of posterity the toast?
The poets shall ensure thy name,
Who magnitude of mind not body boast.
Laurels on bulky bards as rarely grow,
As on the sturdy oak the virtuous misletoe.

V

Look in the glass, survey that cheek—
Where Flora has with all her roses blush'd;
The shape so tender,—looks so meek,—
The breasts made to be press'd, not to be crush'd—
Then turn to me,—turn with obliging eyes,
Nor longer Nature's works, in miniature, despise.

VI

Young Ammon did the world subdue,
Yet had not more external man than I;
Ah! charmer, should I conquer you,
With him in fame, as well as size, I'll vie.
Then, scornful nymph, come forth to yonder grove.
Where I defy, and challenge, all thy utmost love.

ODE X. An Ode on the 26th of January, being the Birth-Day of a Young Lady.

I

All hail, and welcome joyous morn,
Welcome to the infant year;
Whether smooth calms thy face adorn,
Or low'ring clouds appear;
Tho' billows lash the sounding shore,
And tempests thro' the forests roar,
Sweet Nancy's voice shall sooth the sound;
Tho' darkness shou'd invest the skies,
New day shall beam from Nancy's eyes,
And bless all nature round.

II

Let but those lips their sweets disclose,
And rich perfumes exhale,
We shall not want the fragrant rose,
Nor miss the southern gale.
Then loosely to the winds unfold,
Those radiant locks of burnish'd gold,
Or on thy bosom let them rove;
His treasure-house there Cupid keeps,
And hoards up, in two snowy heaps,
His stores of choicest love.

III

This day each warmest wish be paid
To thee the Muse's pride,
I long to see the blooming maid
Chang'd to the blushing bride.
So shall thy pleasure and thy praise
Increase with the increasing days,
And present joys exceed the past;
To give and to receive delight,
Shall be thy task both day and night,
While day and night shall last.

ODE XI. On taking a Bachelor's Degree.

In allusion to Horace. Book iii, Ode 30.

Exegi monumentum ære perennius, &c.

'Tis done:—I tow'r to that degree,
And catch such heav'nly fire,
That Horace ne'er could rant like me,
Nor is King's-chapel higher.
My name in sure recording page
Shall time itself o'erpow'r,

If no rude mice with envious rage
The buttery books devour.
A title too with added grace,
My name shall now attend,
Till to the church with silent pace
A nymph and priest ascend.
Ev'n in the schools I now rejoice,
Where late I shook with fear,
Nor heed the Moderator's voice
Loud thund'ring in my ear.
Then with Æolian flute I blow
A soft Italian lay,
Or where Cam's scanty waters flow,
Releas'd from lectures, stray.
Meanwhile, friend Banks, my merits claim
Their just reward from you,

For Horace bids us challenge fame,
When once that fame's our due,
Invest me with a graduate's gown,
Midst shouts of all beholders,
My head with ample square-cap crown,
And deck with hood my shoulders.

Cambridge.

B. A.

Regali situ pyramidum altius.—

Annorum series, &c.

Bachelor.

------ Dum Capitolium
Scandet cum tacitê virgine pontifex.

------ Quá violens
Obstrepit Aufidus.—

------ Æolium carmen ad Italos
Deduxisse modos.

------ Qua pauper aquæ Daunus, &c.

A celebrated taylor.

------ Sume superbiam
Quæsitam meritis. ------

------ Mihi Delphicâ
Lauro cinge volens—comam.

A MORNING PIECE,

OR, An HYMN for the HAY-MAKERS.

ODE XII.

Quinetiam Gallum noctem explaudentibus alis
Auroram clarâ consuctum voce vocare.
Lucret.

Brisk chaunticleer his mattins had begun,
And broke the silence of the night,
And thrice he call'd aloud the tardy sun,
And thrice he hail'd the dawn's ambiguous light;
Back to their graves the fear-begotten phantoms run.

Strong Labour got up with his pipe in his mouth,
And stoutly strode over the dale,
He lent new perfumes to the breath of the south,
On his back hung his wallet and flail.
Behind him came Health from her cottage of thatch,
Where never physician had lifted the latch.

First of the village Collin was awake,
And thus he sung reclining on his rake.
Now the rural graces three
Dance beneath yon maple tree;
First the vestal Virtue, known
By her adamantine zone;
Next to her in rosy pride,
Sweet Society the bride;
Last Honesty, full seemly drest
In her cleanly home-spun vest.
The abby bells in wak'ning rounds
The warning peal have giv'n;
And pious Gratitude resounds
Her morning hymn to heav'n.

All nature wakes—the birds unlock their throats,
And mock the shepherd's rustic notes.

All alive o'er the lawn,
Full glad of the dawn,
The little lambkins play,
Sylvia and Sol arise,—and all is day—

Come, my mates, let us work,
And all hands to the fork,
While the sun shines, our hay-cocks to make,
So fine is the day,
And so fragrant the hay,
That the meadow's as blith as the wake.

Our voices let's raise
In Phœbus's praise,
Inspir'd by so glorious a theme,
Our musical words
Shall be join'd by the birds,
And we'll dance to the tune of the stream.

A NOON-PIECE;

OR, The MOWERS at Dinner.

ODE XIII.

Jam pastor umbras cum grege languido,
Rivumque fessus quærit, & horridi
Dumeta Silvani, caretque
Ripa vagis taciturna ventis.
Hor.

The sun is now too radiant to behold,
And vehement he sheds his liquid rays of gold;

No cloud appears thro' all the wide expanse;
And short, but yet distinct and clear,
To the wanton whistling air
The mimic shadows dance.

Fat Mirth, and Gallantry the gay,
And romping Extasy 'gin play.
Now myriads of young Cupids rise,
And open all their joy-bright eyes,
Filling with infant prate the grove,
And lisp in sweetly-fault'ring love.
In the middle of the ring,
Mad with May, and wild of wing,
Fire-ey'd Wantonness shall sing.

By the rivulet on the rushes,
Beneath a canopy of bushes,
Where the ever-faithful Tray,
Guards the dumplins and the whey,
Collin Clout and Yorkshire Will
From the leathern bottle swill.

Their scythes upon the adverse bank
Glitter 'mongst th'entangled trees,
Where the hazles form a rank,
And court'sy to the courting breeze.

Ah! Harriot! sovereign mistress of my heart,
Could I thee to these meads decoy,

New grace to each fair object thou'dst impart,
And heighten ev'ry scene to perfect joy.

On a bank of fragrant thyme,
Beneath yon stately, shadowy pine,
We'll with the well-disguised hook
Cheat the tenants of the brook;
Or where coy Daphne's thickest shade
Drives amorous Phœbus from the glade,
There read Sydney's high-wrought stories
Of ladies charms and heroes glories;
Thence fir'd, the sweet narration act,
And kiss the fiction into fact.

Or satiate with nature's random scenes,
Let's to the gardens regulated greens,
Where taste and elegance command
Art to lend her dædal hand,
Where Flora's flock, by nature wild,
To discipline are reconcil'd,
And laws and order cultivate,
Quite civiliz'd into a state.

From the sun and from the show'r,
Haste we to yon boxen bow'r,
Secluded from the teizing pry
Of Argus' curiosity:
There, while Phœbus' golden mean,
The gay meridian is seen,

Ere decays the lamp of light,
And length'ning shades stretch out to night—
Seize, seize the hint—each hour improve
(This is morality in love)
Lend, lend thine hand—O let me view
Thy parting breasts, sweet avenue!
Then,—then thy lips, the coral cell
Where all th'ambrosial kisses dwell!
Thus we'll each sultry noon employ
In day-dreams of exstatic joy.

A NIGHT-PIECE;

OR, MODERN PHILOSOPHY.

ODE XIV.

Dicetur meritâ nox quoque mœniâ. Hor.

'Twas when bright Cynthia with her silver car,
Soft stealing from Endymion's bed,
Had call'd forth ev'ry glitt'ting star,
And up th'ascent of heav'n her brilliant host had led.

Night with all her negro train,
Took possession of the plain;

In an hearse she rode reclin'd,
Drawn by screech-owls slow and blind:
Close to her, with printless feet,
Crept Stillness in a winding sheet.
Next to her deaf Silence was seen,
Treading on tip-toes over the green;
Softly, lightly, gently she trips,
Still holding her fingers seal'd to her lips.

You could not see a sight,
You could not hear a sound,
But what confess'd the night,
And horror deepen'd round.

Beneath a myrtle's melancholy shade,
Sophron the wise was laid:
And to the answ'ring wood these sounds convey'd:
While others toil within the town,
And to fortune smile or frown,
Fond of trifles, fond of toys,
And married to that woman, Noise;
Sacred Wisdom be my care,
And fairest Virtue, Wisdom's heir.

His speculations thus the sage begun,
When, lo! the neighbouring bell
In solemn sound struck one:—
He starts—and recollects—he was engag'd to Nell.

Then up he sprang nimble and light,
And rapp'd at fair Ele'nor's door;
He laid aside virtue that night,
And next morn por'd in Plato for more.

On Miss ---.

ODE XV.

I

Long, with undistinguish'd flame,
I lov'd each fair, each witty dame.
My heart the belle-assembly gain'd,
And all an equal sway maintain'd.

II

But when you came, you stood confess'd
Sole sultana of my breast;
For you eclips'd, supremely fair,
All the whole seraglio there.

III

In this her mien, in that her grace,
In a third I lov'd a face;
But you in ev'ry feature shine
Universally divine.

IV

What can those tumid paps excel,
Do they sink, or do they swell?
While those lovely wanton eyes
Sparkling meet them, as they rise.

V

Thus is silver Cynthia seen,
Glistening o'er the glassy green,
While attracted swell the waves,
Emerging from their inmost caves.

VI

When to sweet sounds your steps you suit,
And weave the minuet to the lute,
Heav'ns! how you glide!—her neck—her chest—
Does she move, or does she rest?

VII

As those roguish eyes advance,
Let me catch their side-long glance,
Soon—or they'll elude my sight,
Quick as lightning, and as bright.

VIII

Thus the bashful Pleiad cheats
The gazer's eye, and still retreats,
Then peeps again—then skulks unseen,
Veil'd behind the azure skreen.

IX

Like the ever-toying dove,
Smile immensity of Iove;
Be Venus in each outward part,
And wear the vestal in your heart.

X

When I ask a kiss, or so—
Grant it with a begging no,
And let each rose that decks your face
Blush assent to my embrace.

On the Fifth of December, being the Birth-Day of a beautiful young Lady.

ODE XVI.

I

Hail, eldest of the monthly train,
Sire of the winter drear,
December, in whose iron reign
Expires the chequer'd year.
Hush all the blust'ring blasts that blow,
And proudly plum'd in silver snow,

Smile gladly on this blest of days.
The livery'd clouds shall on thee wait,
And Phœbus shine in all his state
With more than summer rays.

II

Tho' jocund June may justly boast
Long days and happy hours,
Tho' August be Pomona's host,
And May be crown'd with flow'rs;
Tell June, his fire and crimson dies,
By Harriot's blush and Harriot's eyes,
Eclips'd and vanquish'd, fade away:
Tell August, thou canst let him see
A richer, riper fruit than he,
A sweeter flow'r than May.