Dear is the summer of day, when the fountains,
Unfetter'd and free, pour the bright crystal stream;
Dear is the cataract's leap in the mountains,
When sparkling at night in the moon's silver beam;
Dear are the shoals where the sea-horse is bounding,
With his icicled mane and his eyeballs of fire;
But dearer than all, is the comfort surrounding
The wife of his choice, and the hearth of his sire.
TO THE SNOW-DROP.
Joyous Herald of the Spring,
Pretty snow-drop, hail!
With thee, modest trembler, bring
Summer's balmy gale.
Com'st to tell us Winter's fled?
Bright informer, hail!
Welcome guest, why hang thy head.
Why thy cheek so pale?
Dost thou droop thy head in wo,
Poor glory of an hour?
Since not the Summer's heat shall glow
For thee, thou short-liv'd flow'r
Thou art only come, alas!
To tell us spring is near;
Like a fleeting shade to pass,
Droop, and disappear.
Thus some son of Virtue may,
Tread his bright career,
Guide by mild Religion's ray,
Erring Mortals here:
Ere his Winter toils are done,
Or Summer hopes arise,
Sinks he, youth and vigour gone,
Points to heav'n—and dies.—Helen.