 | Odes, on the four seasons |  |
7
SPRING.
Stern Winter now forsakes the Plain,
Enchanting Nature smiles again;
Each Tree it's Foliage reassumes,
And new-born Zephyrs breath Perfumes.
Where-e'er we turn our ravish'd Eyes,
Luxuriant Scenes of Beauty rise;
The Meadows, now of lively Green,
Before, a chearless barren Scene;
Each flow'ry Border, trembling Rill,
Each smiling Vale, and airy Hill,
Now all their various Beauties boast,
Each seems to strive to please the most.
Enchanting Nature smiles again;
Each Tree it's Foliage reassumes,
And new-born Zephyrs breath Perfumes.
Where-e'er we turn our ravish'd Eyes,
Luxuriant Scenes of Beauty rise;
The Meadows, now of lively Green,
Before, a chearless barren Scene;
Each flow'ry Border, trembling Rill,
Each smiling Vale, and airy Hill,
Now all their various Beauties boast,
Each seems to strive to please the most.
What Joys await the Farmer's Toil,
His Hours of Labour to beguile?
On ev'ry Spray the feather'd Throng;
Retune their half-forgotten Song.
See! from the Ground the Lark arise,
And soaring mock our wond'ring Eyes;
Still as he soars his Notes decay,
Till the faint Warblings die away.
His Hours of Labour to beguile?
On ev'ry Spray the feather'd Throng;
Retune their half-forgotten Song.
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And soaring mock our wond'ring Eyes;
Still as he soars his Notes decay,
Till the faint Warblings die away.
And when the Sun's last glimm'ring Beam
Bids him unyoke his weary Team,
As homeward to his Cot he steers,
What Transport ev'ry where appears?
Now in a sweeter wilder Note
The Black-Bird swells his tuneful Throat;
Around, his fleecy charge are seen
Wide browsing o'er the tufted Green;
Whose tender Lambs in wanton Play
Leap to and fro, and cross his way.
Their Labours done, each youthful Swain
Trips with his sweet-heart o'er the Plain;
And joins the jovial rustic Band,
That circling sport it Hand in Hand.
All Nature lost in sweet Repose,
The peaceful Night no Tumult knows:
Nothing awake, but Philomel,
Whose plaintive Music seems to tell,
By what untimely Fate she fell:
All Night she tunes her woe-fraught Lay,
But bashful, shuns th'approach of Day.
Bids him unyoke his weary Team,
As homeward to his Cot he steers,
What Transport ev'ry where appears?
Now in a sweeter wilder Note
The Black-Bird swells his tuneful Throat;
Around, his fleecy charge are seen
Wide browsing o'er the tufted Green;
Whose tender Lambs in wanton Play
Leap to and fro, and cross his way.
Their Labours done, each youthful Swain
Trips with his sweet-heart o'er the Plain;
And joins the jovial rustic Band,
That circling sport it Hand in Hand.
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The peaceful Night no Tumult knows:
Nothing awake, but Philomel,
Whose plaintive Music seems to tell,
By what untimely Fate she fell:
All Night she tunes her woe-fraught Lay,
But bashful, shuns th'approach of Day.
The Bee, as if but now alive,
Early forsakes the busy Hive;
From Flow'r to Flow'r the Insect fleets,
And from the bitter culls the Sweets.
How happy for too thoughtless Man!
Wou'd he, like it, improve his Span!
In Virtue's Search wou'd thus delight,
And, where the Good and Bad unite,
Virtue shou'd meet Distinction find,
And odious Vice be left behind.
Early forsakes the busy Hive;
From Flow'r to Flow'r the Insect fleets,
And from the bitter culls the Sweets.
How happy for too thoughtless Man!
Wou'd he, like it, improve his Span!
In Virtue's Search wou'd thus delight,
And, where the Good and Bad unite,
Virtue shou'd meet Distinction find,
And odious Vice be left behind.
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SUMMER.
See! Summer comes with Roses crown'd,
Exulting oe'r th'enamell'd Ground!
Now longer Suns, and warmer Skies
Bid Nature in Perfection rise:
The fruitful Trees that 'erst were seen,
Gay-deck'd in Livery of Green,
Chequer'd with Blossoms now appear,
The beauteous Promise of the Year.
Exulting oe'r th'enamell'd Ground!
Now longer Suns, and warmer Skies
Bid Nature in Perfection rise:
The fruitful Trees that 'erst were seen,
Gay-deck'd in Livery of Green,
Chequer'd with Blossoms now appear,
The beauteous Promise of the Year.
'Ere yet Aurora chase the Dews,
The Lark his matin Song renews;
And seems to chide the Swains Delay,
To lose so sweet a Part of Day.
The Village Maids, whose Toils dispense
The Joys of Health and Innocence,
In chearful Crouds now seek the Fields,
To reap the Harvest Summer yeilds.
While Nature so delightful reigns,
Luxuriant thus o'er Hills and Plains,
Ye, whom a more indulgent Fate
Has plac'd amongst the good and great,
Quick to your Villas hasten down,
What Joy's within the smoky Town?
The Lark his matin Song renews;
And seems to chide the Swains Delay,
To lose so sweet a Part of Day.
The Village Maids, whose Toils dispense
The Joys of Health and Innocence,
In chearful Crouds now seek the Fields,
To reap the Harvest Summer yeilds.
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Luxuriant thus o'er Hills and Plains,
Ye, whom a more indulgent Fate
Has plac'd amongst the good and great,
Quick to your Villas hasten down,
What Joy's within the smoky Town?
Down ev'ry Vale, and ev'ry Hill,
Or winds the sweetly gurling Rill,
Or spreads the fragrant-breathing Flow'r,
Or forms th'impenetrable Bow'r.
Or winds the sweetly gurling Rill,
Or spreads the fragrant-breathing Flow'r,
Or forms th'impenetrable Bow'r.
Hark! how the feather'd Choir complain,
Each in a variegated Strain!
Some wanton, hop from Spray to Spray,
Enchanting in a sprightly Lay;
Others, whose Young, (their only Joy,)
Have perish'd by some cruel Boy,
Of all their Hopes at once betray'd,
Fly to some solitary Shade,
There breath (poor Birds) the tender Throe,
And charm us with melodious Woe.
Each in a variegated Strain!
Some wanton, hop from Spray to Spray,
Enchanting in a sprightly Lay;
Others, whose Young, (their only Joy,)
Have perish'd by some cruel Boy,
Of all their Hopes at once betray'd,
Fly to some solitary Shade,
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And charm us with melodious Woe.
Man may, in Scenes of ev'ry Kind,
Fit Lessons of Instruction find:
The Bird for Injury and Wrong,
Re-pays th'oppressor with a Song;
Oh! blush to think, that Heav'n-inspir'd
Thy Breast shou'd be with Malice fir'd!
Learn, hence, thy Passion to restrain;
And still that god-like Rule maintain,
To seek no Vengeance on a Foe,
But bless the Hand, that gives the Blow.
Fit Lessons of Instruction find:
The Bird for Injury and Wrong,
Re-pays th'oppressor with a Song;
Oh! blush to think, that Heav'n-inspir'd
Thy Breast shou'd be with Malice fir'd!
Learn, hence, thy Passion to restrain;
And still that god-like Rule maintain,
To seek no Vengeance on a Foe,
But bless the Hand, that gives the Blow.
AUTUMN.
Warm'd by the Sun's effulgent Blaze,
Now, Autumn all its Store displays;
Here Ceres, Goddess heav'nly fair,
Auspicious reigns, Pomona there:
The Blossom, that, by Zephyrs nurst,
Labour'd the swelling Bud to burst;
That, chear'd by Phœbus' genial Pow'r,
Summer beheld a blooming Flow'r;
Now ripe, it's blushing Honours bears,
Still lovelier in each Shape it wears.
Now, Autumn all its Store displays;
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Auspicious reigns, Pomona there:
The Blossom, that, by Zephyrs nurst,
Labour'd the swelling Bud to burst;
That, chear'd by Phœbus' genial Pow'r,
Summer beheld a blooming Flow'r;
Now ripe, it's blushing Honours bears,
Still lovelier in each Shape it wears.
Now to the golden Fields repair
The jolly Swain and buxom fair;
Content, the while stands smiling round,
Chearful they clear the cumber'd Ground;
with harmless Chat beguile the Day,
Till setting Phœbus calls away.
The jolly Swain and buxom fair;
Content, the while stands smiling round,
Chearful they clear the cumber'd Ground;
with harmless Chat beguile the Day,
Till setting Phœbus calls away.
Autumn benign in ev'ry Kind
Re-pays the Labours of the Hind:
Whether he toil'd upon the Plain,
For waving Crops of yellow Grain,
Or yet delighted to entwine
The Tendril with the creeping Vine.
But Nature 'erst so blyth and gay,
Alas! must sicken, and decay.
E'en now it languishes; for See
The wither'd Leaves on ev'ry Tree!
Already are the Roses fled;
The conscious Lilly droops it's Head
To see it's beauteous Fellows flown,
And by their Fall foretels it's own.
Thus all Things, humble or sublime,
Must feel th'all conqu'ring Hand of Time.
Re-pays the Labours of the Hind:
Whether he toil'd upon the Plain,
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Or yet delighted to entwine
The Tendril with the creeping Vine.
But Nature 'erst so blyth and gay,
Alas! must sicken, and decay.
E'en now it languishes; for See
The wither'd Leaves on ev'ry Tree!
Already are the Roses fled;
The conscious Lilly droops it's Head
To see it's beauteous Fellows flown,
And by their Fall foretels it's own.
Thus all Things, humble or sublime,
Must feel th'all conqu'ring Hand of Time.
Th'industrious Ant, by Nature taught,
With more than common Prudence fraught,
Lays up secure an annual Store;
(It's little Date, perhaps, no more:)
With more than common Prudence fraught,
Lays up secure an annual Store;
(It's little Date, perhaps, no more:)
Wou'd Man, (who Lord of all presides,
Alone whom Reason's Influence guides,
Whom Heav'n, in Mercy unconfin'd,
For nobler purposes design'd)
Thus hoard against that common Fate,
We all must prove or soon or late;
How calm might he resign his Breath,
And smiling meet the Arm of Death!
With Joy, his Soul to Heav'n commend,
And fearless face his latter End.
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Whom Heav'n, in Mercy unconfin'd,
For nobler purposes design'd)
Thus hoard against that common Fate,
We all must prove or soon or late;
How calm might he resign his Breath,
And smiling meet the Arm of Death!
With Joy, his Soul to Heav'n commend,
And fearless face his latter End.
WINTER.
Old Time, alas! with stealing Pace,
Now changes Nature's blooming Face:
No more the Beauties of the Spring
Delight, no more the Warblers sing:
No more the Flow'rets deck the Ground,
No more is rural Pleasure found.
Now changes Nature's blooming Face:
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Delight, no more the Warblers sing:
No more the Flow'rets deck the Ground,
No more is rural Pleasure found.
The Breeze that fann'd the rustling Glade,
The Woodbine Bow'r, the Poplar Shade,
And fragrant Sweets arising there,
That wide perfum'd the ambient Air,
Are banish'd all; and all that's gay,
Stern Winter now has swept away.
The verdant Grove, where oft I've stray'd,
The matted Grass whereon I've laid;
The Rill, which purl'd so clear before,
Congeal'd in Ice, delights no more:
Phœbus too, Glory of the Skies,
Who bids the Meads, the Flow'rs arise,
Deserts us now, as if afraid
To view the change by Winter made.
While he maintains his rigid Reign,
Progne forsakes the chearless Plain;
To Southern Realms remote she flies,
To more auspicious, warmer Skies:
Whilst we are left behind to bear
Th'unwholesome Rigour of the Air.
Then say, and is there nought to find,
To warm the Man, to sooth the Mind?
The Grape remains; fill high the Bowl,
This still can animate the Soul.
The Woodbine Bow'r, the Poplar Shade,
And fragrant Sweets arising there,
That wide perfum'd the ambient Air,
Are banish'd all; and all that's gay,
Stern Winter now has swept away.
The verdant Grove, where oft I've stray'd,
The matted Grass whereon I've laid;
The Rill, which purl'd so clear before,
Congeal'd in Ice, delights no more:
Phœbus too, Glory of the Skies,
Who bids the Meads, the Flow'rs arise,
17
To view the change by Winter made.
While he maintains his rigid Reign,
Progne forsakes the chearless Plain;
To Southern Realms remote she flies,
To more auspicious, warmer Skies:
Whilst we are left behind to bear
Th'unwholesome Rigour of the Air.
Then say, and is there nought to find,
To warm the Man, to sooth the Mind?
The Grape remains; fill high the Bowl,
This still can animate the Soul.
Just Emblem of our Station here,
Appears each circulating Year:
Man surely reaps the Seed he sows,
And Error's sown where Error grows:
Then learn the Spring of Life t'improve,
And ev'ry noxious Weed remove;
Sow nought but Seeds of Prudence there,
And these will well re-pay thy Care;
Then, when thy Summer's Sun is fled,
And Autumn silvers o'er thy Head;
When Winter's Frosts shall freeze thy Veins;
(Tho' rack'd with Age-attending Pains,)
The glad Remembrance of the Past,
Shall sweeten Life, while Life doth last.
Appears each circulating Year:
Man surely reaps the Seed he sows,
And Error's sown where Error grows:
Then learn the Spring of Life t'improve,
18
Sow nought but Seeds of Prudence there,
And these will well re-pay thy Care;
Then, when thy Summer's Sun is fled,
And Autumn silvers o'er thy Head;
When Winter's Frosts shall freeze thy Veins;
(Tho' rack'd with Age-attending Pains,)
The glad Remembrance of the Past,
Shall sweeten Life, while Life doth last.
FINIS.
| Odes, on the four seasons | |