Nor waste your fury on the rugged shore;
Mild flow, ye waves; ye winds, no longer sweep,
With awful madness, o’er th’ expanded deep,
Nor dare to lift the towering surges high,
Foaming resistless to the lofty sky:
Avaunt, nor cloud the lustre of the day;
A milder reign succeeds, a gentler sway!
Come, beauteous Spring! come, hasten with my train,
Gentle and lovely, to assume thy reign;
The fairest flowers that early Nature yields,