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ODE TO SPRING.
Sweet is thy reign, but ſhort; The red dog-ſtar
Shall ſcorch thy treſſes, and the mower's ſcythe
Thy greens, thy flow'rets all,
Remorſeleſs ſhall deſtroy.
Reluctant ſhall I bid thee then farewel;
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.
VERSES
