32
BACKWARDNESS OF SPRING.
Like ſome lone pilgrim, clad in mournful weed,
Whoſe wounded boſom drinks her falling tears,
On whoſe pale cheek relentleſs ſorrows feed,
Whoſe dreary way no ſprightly carol cheers.
Not thus ſhe breath'd on Arno's purple ſhore,
And call'd the Tuſcan Muſes to her bowers;
Not this the robe in Enna's vale ſhe wore,
When Ceres' daughter fill'd her lap with flowers.
Clouds behind clouds in long ſucceſſion riſe,
And heavy ſnows oppreſs the ſpringing green;
The dazzling waſte fatigues the aching eyes,
And fancy droops beneath th' unvaried ſcene.
Indulgent nature looſe this frozen zone;
Thro' opening ſkies let genial ſun-beams play;
Diſſolving ſnows ſhail their glad impulſe own,
And melt upon the boſom of the May.
VERSES
