ODE TO SPRING.
99
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.
