O DE ON THE SPRING. LO! where the rofy-bosom'd hours, Fair VENUS' train, appear, Disclose the long-expecting flowers, And wake the purple year! The Attic warbler pours her throat, The untaught harmony of spring : Where-e'er the oak's thick branches ftretch A broader browner fhade; Where-e'er the rude and mofs-grown beech O'er-canopies the glade *; Befide fome water's rufhy brink With me the Mufe fhall fit, and think, (At cafe reclin'd in ruftic ftate), How vain the ardour of the crowd, How low, how little are the proud, How indigent the great! a bank O'er-canopied with luscious woodbine. Shakefp. Midf. Night's Dream. Still is the toiling hand of Care; The panting herds repofe : Yet hark, how thro' the peopled air The infect youth are on the wing, And float amid the liquid noon *: * Nare per æftatem liquidam + Virgil. Georg. lib. 4. fporting with quick glance, Shew to the fun their wav'd coats dropt with gold. Milton's Paradife Loft, book 7. To |