When Death, or adverse Fortune's ruthless gale, Tears our best hopes away, the wounded Heart Exhausted, leans on all that can impart The charm of Sympathy; her mutual wail How soothing! never can her warm tears fail To balm our bleeding grief's severest smart; Nor wholly vain _feign'd_ Pity's solemn art, Tho' we should penetrate her sable veil. Concern, e'en known to be _assum'd_, our pains Respecting, kinder welcome far acquires Than cold Neglect, or Mirth that Grief profanes. Thus each faint Glow-worm of the Night conspires, Gleaming along the moss'd and darken'd lanes, To cheer the Gloom with her unreal fires.
In April's gilded morn when south winds blow, And gently shake the hawthorn's silver crown, Wafting its scent the forest-glade adown, The dewy shelter of the bounding Doe, _Then_, under trees, soft tufts of primrose show Their palely-yellowing flowers;--to the moist Sun Blue harebells peep, while cowslips stand unblown, Plighted to riper May;--and lavish flow The Lark's loud carols in the wilds of air. O! not to Nature's glad Enthusiast cling Avarice, and pride.--Thro' her now blooming sphere Charm'd as he roves, his thoughts enraptur'd spring To HIM, who gives frail Man's appointed time These cheering hours of promise, and of prime.
Now on hills, rocks, and streams, and vales, and plains, Full looks the shining Day.--Our gardens wear The gorgeous robes of the consummate Year. With laugh, and shout, and song, stout Maids and Swains Heap high the fragrant hay, as thro' rough lanes Rings the yet empty waggon.--See in air The pendent cherries, red with tempting stains, Gleam thro' their boughs.--Summer, thy bright career Must slacken soon in Autumn's milder sway; Then thy now heapt and jocund meads shall stand Smooth,--vacant,--silent,--thro' th' exulting Land As wave thy Rival's golden fields, and gay Her Reapers throng. She smiles, and binds the sheaves; Then bends her parting step o'er fall'n and rustling leaves.
Thro' changing Months a well-attemper'd Mind Welcomes their gentle or terrific pace.-- When o'er retreating Autumn's golden grace Tempestuous Winter spreads in every wind Naked asperity, our musings find Grandeur increasing, as the Glooms efface Variety and glow.--Each solemn trace Exalts the thoughts, from sensual joys refin'd. Then blended in our rapt ideas rise The vanish'd charms, that summer-suns reveal, With all of desolation, that now lies Dreary before us;--teach the Soul to feel Awe in the Present, pleasure in the Past, And to see vernal Morns in Hope's perspective cast.