SONNET XXXV.
SPRING.
In April's gilded morn when south winds blow,
And gently shake the hawthorn's silver crown,
Wafting its scent the forest-glade adown,
The dewy shelter of the bounding Doe,
Then, under trees, soft tufts of primrose show
Their palely-yellowing flowers;—to the moist Sun
Blue harebells peep, while cowslips stand unblown,
Plighted to riper May;—and lavish flow
The Lark's loud carols in the wilds of air.
O! not to Nature's glad Enthusiast cling
Avarice, and pride.—Thro' her now blooming sphere
Charm'd as he roves, his thoughts enraptur'd spring
To Him, who gives frail Man's appointed time
These cheering hours of promise, and of prime.
SONNET XXXVI.
SUMMER.
Now on hills, rocks, and streams, and vales, and plains,
Full looks the shining Day.—Our gardens wear
The gorgeous robes of the consummate Year.
With laugh, and shout, and song, stout Maids and Swains
Heap high the fragrant hay, as thro' rough lanes
Rings the yet empty waggon.—See in air
The pendent cherries, red with tempting stains,
Gleam thro' their boughs.—Summer, thy bright career
Must slacken soon in Autumn's milder sway;
Then thy now heapt and jocund meads shall stand
Smooth,—vacant,—silent,—thro' th' exulting Land
As wave thy Rival's golden fields, and gay
Her Reapers throng. She smiles, and binds the sheaves;
Then bends her parting step o'er fall'n and rustling leaves.
SONNET XXXVII.
AUTUMN.