54

The Four Seasons,

Returning nightingales appear,

And charm with song the midnight hour; And I, the melting notes to hear,

Frequent my lone, sequester'd bower.

SUMMER.

When golden morn's refulgent rays
Give lustre to the dewy vale,
Whilst June its rosy bloom displays,
And eglantines perfume the gale;
With shepherds, on the thymy down,
I love to pass the summer's day,
Or trace (and mark the privet blown)
The shady thicket's winding way.

When lads and lasses making hay,
Chat mirthful in the verdant mead,

I form for them the sportive lay,
Or pipe upon my rural reed;
With rake in hand I often walk

With them along the new-mown vale,
And cheer the swains with merry talk,
And please the nymphs with many a tale.

The Four Seasons.

When reapers to the golden field
Hie blithsome in the busy morn,
I rear the shock, or sickle wield,
And smiling view the ripen'd corn.

55

AUTUMN.

In wealthy autumn's evening fair,
When all the corn is gather'd in,
I to the rustic rout repair,

And help to swell the cheerful din :
We that in rural toils have join'd,
Now at the farmer's board regale ;
The feast enjoy with gleeful mind,
And push about the nut-brown ale.

The treasures of the cultur'd field,
Are in our barns with caution stor❜d;
The juicy fruits our orchard yield,
Heap up the winter's ample hoard;
The balmy sweets of toiling bees,
Collected are with careful hand;
We set our anxious minds at ease,
For plenty revels in the land.

56

The Four Seasons.

When favour'd by the scentful morn,

I trace thick woods, or climb the rocks, Urge on the chase with hounds and horn, And far pursue the wily fox; His nightly ravage in the fold

The shepherd shall no longer dread, The shouting swains shall soon behold, The caitiff number'd with the dead.

WINTER.

The lawns have lost their vivid hue,
No flow'rets bloom, no lambkins bleat;
Yet, with rejoicing eyes we view
The verdure of the springing wheat :
Revolving plenty buds around,

It shall our future wealth dispense;
We'll hedge with care the precious ground,
And trust it then to Providence.

Now dark December's tempest rends
The frowning skies with dreadful ire,
And, chatting with my jocund friends,
I sit beside the blazing fire.

A Wish.

Your herds now shiver in the mead;
Ye swains, their urgent calls obey;
Their steps to timely shelter lead,

And deal around the fragrant hay.

Contending storms now rage around,
With snow the fields are cover'd o'er:
Huge billows break with frightful sound,
And roll their terrors to the shore.

57

WILLIAMS.

A WISH.

LET wealth, let fame, those dazzling gifts of fate,

Bless all the wayward sons of pomp and state; Be mine the riches of a soul refin'd,

The heart benevolent, the spotless mind, To heaven's unerring will, in humble hope resign'd!

WILLIAMS

58 A Storm.-Hassan, or, The Camel-Driver.

A STORM.

Now bursts the wave that from the clouds impends,

And swell'd with tempests on the ship descends; White are the decks with foam; the winds aloud,

Howl o'er the masts and sing through every shroud;

Pale, trembling, tir'd, the sailors freeze with

fears,

And instant death on ev'ry wave appears.

DRYDEN'S VIRGIL.

HASSAN, OR, THE CAMEL-DRIVER.

IN silent horror o'er the boundless waste, The driver, Hassan, with his camels pass'd; One cruise of water on his back he bore, And his light scrip contain'd a scanty store; A fan of painted feathers in his hand,

To guard his shaded face from scorching sand.