hung o'er the steep; whence, borne on liquid wing, or, by the vocal woods and waters lull'd, EFFECTS OF SPRING ON NATURE. Behold yon breathing prospect bids the muse or can it mix them with that matchless skill, ah what shall language do? ah where find words that inexhaustive flow continual round? Yet, tho' successless, will the toil delight. Come then, ye virgins and ye youths, whose hearts have felt the raptures of refining love and thou, AMANDA, come, pride of my song! form'd by the Graces loveliness itself! come with those downcast eyes, sedate and sweet, those looks demure, that deeply pierce the soul, where, with the light of thoughtful reason mix'd, shines lively fancy and the feeling heart; oh come! and while the rosy-footed May steals blushing on, together let us tread the morning-dews, and gather in their prime fresh-blooming flowers, to grace thy braided hair, and thy lov'd bosom that improves their sweets. Sce, where the winding vale it's lavish stores, irriguous, spreads. See, how the lily drinks the latent rill, scarce oozing through the grass, of growth luxuriant; or the humid bank, in fair profusion, decks. Long let us walk, where the breeze blows from yon extended field of blossom'd beans. Arabia cannot boast a fuller gale of joy, than liberal, thence 3 breathes through the sense, and takes the ravish'd soul. Nor is the mead unworthy of thy foot, full of fresh verdure, and unnumber'd flowers, 1 it's vistas opens, and it's alleys green. Snatch'd through the verdant maze, the hurried eye distracted wanders: now the bow'ry walk of covert close, where scarce a speck of day the yellow wall-flower, stain'd with iron brown; with shining meal o'er all their velvet leaves: Then comes the tulip-race where Beauty plays the varied colours run; and while they break nor broad carnations, nor gay-spotted pinks;' nor, shower'd from every bush, the damask-rose. Infinite numbers, delicacies, smells, with hues on hues expression cannot paint, the breath of Nature, and her endless bloom. 1 AN APOSTROPHE TO THE DEITY. Hail, SOURCE OF BEING! UNIVERSAL SOUL of Heaven and earth! ESSENTIAL PRESENCE, hail! to THEE I bend the knee; to THEE my thoughts continual, climb; who with a master-hand, hast the great whole into perfection touch'd, By THEE the various vegetative tribes, wrapt in a filmy net, and clad with leaves, draw the live ether, and imbibe the dew: by THEE dispos'd into congenial soils, stands each attractive plant, and sucks, and swells the juicy tide; a twining mass of tubes. At thy command the vernal sun awakes the torpid sap, detruded to the root by wintry winds; that now in fluent dance and lively fermentation, mounting spreads all this innumerous-colour'd scene of things, THE SYMPHONY OF BIRDS, As rising from the vegetable world my theme ascends, with equal wing ascend, my panting Muse! and hark, how loud the woods invite you forth in all your gayest trim. Lend me your song, ye nightingales! oh pour the mazy-running soul of melody into my varied verse! while I deduce, from the first note the hollow cuckoo sings, the symphony of Spring, and touch a theme unknown to fame, "the passion of the groves.” When first the soul of love is sent abroad, warm through the vital air, and on the heart harmonious seizes, the gay troops begin, in gallant thought, to plume the painted wing; and try again the long-forgotten strain, at first faint-warbled. But no sooner grows the soft effusion prevalent, and wide, than, all alive, at once their joy o'erflows in music unconfin'd. Up-springs the lark, shrill-voic'd, and loud, the messenger of morn: ere yet the shadows fly, he mounted sings amid the dawning clouds, and from their haunts calls up the tuneful nations. Every copse deep-tangled, tree irregular, and bush bending with dewy moisture, o'er the heads of the coy quiristers that lodge within, are prodigal of harmony. The thrush and wood-lark, o'er the kind contending throng superior heard, run thro' the sweetest length of notes; when listening Philomela deigns to let them joy, and purposes, in thought elate, to make her night excel their day. The black-bird whistles from the thorny brake; the mellow bullfinch answers from the grove: nor are the linnets, o'er the flowering furze pour'd out profusely silent. Join'd to these innumerous songsters, in the freshening shade of new-sprung leaves, their modulations mix mellifluous. The jay, the rook, the daw, and each harsh pipe, discordant heard alone, aid the full concert; while the stock-dove breathes |