And each careless note repeating,
Tune them to her charming shell.

Not the muse who, wreath'd with laurel, Solemn stalks with tragic gait,

And in clear and lofty vision

Sees the future births of fate;

Not the maid who, crown'd with cypress,
Sweeps along in scepter'd pall;

And in sad and solemn accents
Mourns the crested hero's fall;

But that other smiling sister,

With the blue and laughing eye,

Singing, in a lighter measure,
Strains of woodland harmony;

All unknown to fame and glory,

Easy, blithe, and debonair,

Crown'd with flowers, her careless tresses

Loosely floating on the air:

Then, when next the star of evening

Softly sheds the silent dew, Let me in this rustic temple, Lissy, meet the muse and you.

Ode to Spring.

SWEET daughter of a rough and stormy sire, Hoar Winter's blooming child, delightful Spring! Whose unshorn locks with leaves

And swelling buds are crown'd;

From the green islands of eternal youth, (Crown'd with fresh blooms, and ever-springing

shade,)

Turn, hither turn thy step,

O thou, whose powerful voice

More sweet than softest touch of Doric reed,
Or Lydian flute, can soothe the madding winds,
And thro' the stormy deep

Breathe thy own tender calm.

Thee, best belov'd! the virgin train await

With songs and festal rites, and joy to rove
Thy blooming wilds among,

And vales and dewy lawns,

With untir'd feet; and cull thy earliest sweets
To weave fresh garlands for the glowing brow
Of him, the favour'd youth

That prompts their whisper'd sigh.

!

Unlock thy copious stores; those tender showers That drop their sweetness on the infant buds, And silent dews that swell

The milky ear's green stem,

And feed the flowering osier's early shoots;
And call those winds, which thro' the whispering

boughs

With warm and pleasant breath

Salute the blowing flowers.

Now let me sit beneath the whitening thorn,

And mark thy spreading tints steal o'er the dale; And watch with patient eye

Thy fair unfolding charms.

O nymph, approach! while yet the temperate sun With bashful forehead, thro' the cool moist air Throws his young maiden beams,

And with chaste kisses wooes

The earth's fair bosom; while the streaming veil Of lucid clouds, with kind and frequent shade, Protects thy modest blooms

From his severer blaze.

Sweet is thy reign, but short: the red dog-star
Shall scorch thy tresses, and the mower's sithe

Thy greens, thy flowerets all,
Remorseless shall destroy.

Reluctant shall I bid thee then farewell;
For O! not all that Autumn's lap contains,
Nor Summer's ruddiest fruits,

Can aught for thee atone,

Fair Spring! whose simplest promise more delights
Than all their largest wealth, and thro' the heart
Each joy and new-born hope
With softest influence breathes.

To a Lady, with some Painted Flowers.

FLOWERS to the fair: to you these flowers I bring,
And strive to greet you with an earlier spring.
Flowers sweet, and gay, and delicate like you;
Emblems of innocence, and beauty too.
With flowers the Graces bind their yellow hair,
And flowery wreaths consenting lovers wear.
Flowers, the sole luxury which nature knew,
In Eden's pure and guiltless garden grew.
To loftier forms are rougher tasks assign'd;
The sheltering oak resists the stormy wind,
The tougher yew repels invading foes,
And the tall pine for future navies grows;

A A

But this soft family, to cares unknown,
Were born for pleasure and delight alone.
Gay without toil, and lovely without art,
They spring to cheer the sense and glad the heart.
Nor blush, my fair, to own you copy these;
Your best, your sweetest empire is—to please.

SONG.

COME here, fond youth, whoe'er thou be,
That boasts to love as well as me;

And if thy breast have felt so wide a wound,
Come hither, and thy flame approve;

I'll teach thee what it is to love,

And by what marks true passion may be found.

It is to be all bath'd in tears;
To live upon a smile for years;
To lie whole ages at a beauty's feet:

To kneel, to languish, and implore;
And still tho' she disdain, adore:

It is to do all this, and think thy sufferings sweet.

It is to gaze upon her eyes,

With eager joy, and fond surprise;

Yet temper'd with such chaste and awful fear