O TO SPRING. THOU with dewy locks, who lookest down turn Thine angel eyes upon our western isle, Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring! The hills tell each other, and the listening Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds Oh, deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour Thy golden crown upon her languished head, O TO SUMMER. THOU who passest through our valleys in Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat That flames from their large nostrils! Summer, Thou, O Oft pitchedst here thy golden tent, and oft Beneath our thickest shades we oft have heard Some bank beside a river clear, throw thy Silk draperies off, and rush into the stream! Our bards are famed who strike the silver wire : 41 TO AUTUMN. AUTUMN, laden with fruit, and stained With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit And all the daughters of the year shall dance! “The narrow bud opens her beauties to Blossoms hang round the brows of Morning, and "The Spirits of the Air live on the smells Of fruit; and Joy, with pinions light, roves round The gardens, or sits singing in the trees." Thus sang the jolly Autumn as he sat ; Then rose, girded himself, and o'er the bleak TO WINTER. O WINTER! bar thine adamantine doors: The north is thine; there hast thou built thy dark Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs, |