98
ODE TO SPRING.
More ſweet than ſofteſt touch of Doric reed,
Or Lydian flute, can ſooth the madding winds,
And thro' the ſtormy deep
Breathe thy own tender calm.
Thee, beſt belov'd! the virgin train await
With ſongs and feſtial 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,
