In grove and lawn the purple spring devour,
Sip on the wing, and, lightly bursting, lave
Their airy plumage in its undimpled wave.
* * * * *
Ah, fav’rite scenes! but now with gather’d sail
I seek the shore, nor trust th’ inviting gale;
Else had my song your charms at leisure trac’d,
And all the garden’s varied arts embrac’d;
Sung, twice each year, how Pæstan roses blow,
How endive drinks the rill that purls below,