Nymph 2.
Strew, strew, the glad and smiling ground,
With every flower, yet not confound
The primrose drop, the spring’s own spouse,
Bright daisies, and the lips-of-cows,
The garden-star, the queen of May,
The rose, to crown the holiday.
Nymph 3.
Drop drop your violets, change your hues,
Now red, now pale, as lovers use,
And in your death go out as well
As when you lived unto the smell:
That from your odour all may say,
This is the shepherd’s holiday.
Jonson.
It is to be observed as a remarkable fact, that among the poets, the warmest advocates and admirers of the popular sports and pastimes in village retreats, uniformly invigorate and give keeping to their pictures, by sparkling lights and harmonizing shadows of moral truth.
But hark! the bagpipe summons on the green,
The jocund bagpipe, that awaketh sport;
The blithsome lasses, as the morning sheen,
Around the flower-crown’d Maypole quick resort;
The gods of pleasure here have fix’d their court.
Quick on the wing the flying moment seize,
Nor build up ample schemes, for life is short,
Short as the whisper of the passing breeze.