[19] One of the best passages of Fanshaw’s translation of the Pastor Fido, is the celebrated apostrophe to the spring—
Spring, the year’s youth, fair mother of new flowers,
New leaves, new loves, drawn by the winged hours,
Thou art return’d; but the felicity
Thou brought’st me last is not return’d with thee.
Thou art return’d; but nought returns with thee,
Save my lost joy’s regretful memory.
Thou art the self-same thing thou wert before,
As fair and jocund: but I am no more
The thing I was, so gracious in her sight,