LO! where the rofy-bofom'd hours,
Fair Venus' train appear,
Disclose the long-expecting flowers,
And wake the purple year!
The Attic warbler pours her throat,
Refponfive to the cuckow's note,
The untaught harmony of fpring:
While, whispering pleasure as they fly,
Cool zephyrs through the clear blue sky
Their gather'd fragrance fling.
Where'er the oak's thick branches firetch
A broader browner fhade;
Where'er the rude and mofs-grown beech
O'er-canopies the glade*,
Beside some water's rushy brink
With me the Mufe fhall fit, and think
(At ease reclin'd in rustic state)
How vain the ardour of the Crowd,
How low, how little are the Proud,
How indigent the Great!
O'er-canopied with luscious woodbine.
SHAKESP. MIPS. NIGHT'S DREAM.
Still is the toiling hand of Care:
The panting herd's repose:
Yet hark, how through the peopled air
The bufy murmur glows!
The infect youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honied spring,
And float amid the liquid noon *
Some lightly o'er the current skim,
Some fhew their gayly-gilded trim
Quick-glancing to the fun †.
To contemplation's fober eye t
Such is the race of Man :
And they that creep, and they that fly,
Shall end where they began.
Alike the Bufy and the Gay
But flutter through life's little day.
In Fortune's varying colours drest:
Brush'd by the hand of rough Mischance,
Or chill'd by Age, their airy dance
They leave in dust to rest.
fporting with quick glance
Shew to the fun their waved coats drop'd with gold MILTON'S PARADISE LOST, BOOK VIL
While infects from the threshold preach, &c.
M. GREEN, IN THE GROTTO. DoDstEr’s MISCELLANIES, VOL. V. P. TÔI
Methinks I hear in accents low
The sportive kind reply ; ;
Poor Moralift! and what art thou?
A folitary fly!
Thy joys no glittering female meets,
No hive haft thou of hoarded sweets,
No painted plumage to display:
On hafty wings thy youth is flown :
Thy fun is fet, thy fpring is gone
We frolick while 'tis May.
DROWNED IN A TUB OF GOLD FISHES.
on a lofty vafe's fide,
Where China's gayest art had dy'd
The azure, flowers, that blow;
Demureft of the tabby kind,
The penfive Selima reclin'd,
.Gaz'd on the lake below.
Her conscious tail her joy declar`d;
The fair round face, the fnowy beard,
The velvet of her paws,
Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,
She faw; and purr'd applause.
Still had the gaz'd ; but 'midst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide,
The Genit of the ftream:
Their fcaly armour's Tyrian hue
Through richest purple to the view
Betray'd a golden gleam.
I feel the gales, that from ye blow,
A momentary bliss bestow,
As waving fresh their glad fome wing,
My weary soul they seem to footh,
And, * redolent of joy and youth,
To breathe a second spring.
Say, Father Thames, for thou hast feen
Full many a sprightly race
Disporting on thy margent green
The paths of pleasure trace, .
Who foremost now delight to cleave
With pliant arm thy glassy wave ?
The captive linnet which enthrall ?
What idle progeny succeed
To chace the rolling circle's speed,
Or urge the flying ball ?
While some on earnest business bent
Their murmuring labours ply
Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint
To sweeten liberty:
Some bold adventurers disdain
The limits of their little reign,
And unknown regions dare descry :
Still as they run they look behind,
They hear a voice in every wind;
And snatch a fearful joy.
* And bees their honey redolent of spring.
Dryden's Fable on the Pythag. System,
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