The time is come, when, lord of milder hours,
The Sun, ascending fresh with larger powers,
Is wont to woo and soothe the purple Day,
And, brilliant with its beaming vernal ray,
To climb with face august the heavenly way;
All Nature's love, Earth's hope and glory golden,
To which for garlands virgins are beholden.
With a glad plenty of all living things
Sweet tender Spring approaches on soft wings.
The Year, more beauteous now with offspring new,
And crown'd with Youth's fresh flowers of every hue,
Delicious odours pours from happy breast,
Of fragrant progeny the parent blest:
O'er verdant fields, blue waters, everywhere,
At his own wealth he wonders, large and fair.
By her own Zephyr thirsty Earth unbound
Drinks eagerly the showers which fall all round;
While Flora, sitting where tall trees appear,
Lists, O how happily! as, murmuring near,
A father-fountain chides its gliding waters,
Which with curl'd head--alas, unduteous daughters--
Only look back, and then a garrulous band
Pursue their laughing way o'er all the land;
Lists how the sighing, oft-returning air
Soft prattles to the leafy tresses fair;
With what sweet whispers it accosts the tree,
Which with bow'd head makes answer murmuringly;
Lists, lists again, while through the mournful shade
Sad Philomel's pathetic plaint is made.
Now chiefly Venus spreads her empire sweet,
And calls the world to worship at her feet;
Now mightier her soft reins shakes to and fro,
Chiding, and makes her chariot faster go;
More fiery bids her cestus' powers abound,
And her warm swelling bosom girds around;
More glorious now, circl'd by Nymphs and Graces,
She marches forth, and to her chariot-traces
She yokes more swans. Nay, freer than before,
Her Loves themselves, the sunny meadows o'er,
From her maternal bosom see her pour;
A thousand horsemen sweet career around,
Ten thousand wanton footmen scour the ground;
Part mount the backs of wild beasts as they run,
And their own goad-like arrows ply in fun;
Part seek wing'd flight to urge with double speed,
And so ascend each one an airy steed;
One, vaulting on a sparrow, flits away;
Here see him lightly shine, there brightly play,
In no place long; now resting here, now yonder,
Wherever shadows woo them, lo, they wander.
One, rising mightier than her heavy reins,
His Mother's birds attempts with lighter chains.
One, bee-like, brave o'erthrows an angry bee,
Only another self in him to see;
In tiny circles they awhile revolve,
But soon their interlacing flight dissolve.
Part, lightly flitting o'er the meadows fair,
Strive their own lilies with meet rose to pair.
Now flowery tribes in fragrant counsel stand,
Amid the buds wantons the joyous band.
New glory on their shining pinions rests,
A golden harvest settles on their breasts;
With sweeten'd locks to odorous shades they go,
Their arrows, weapons harsh, away they throw,
While other arms their smiling quivers show.
Flowers in their hand, flowers in their breast, are seen,
On every side appears a flowery sheen.
One Love, reclin'd beside a glassy stream,
Admires the nature of the illusive gleam,
The liquid likeness of his wavering face,
And tremulous deceit of imag'd grace.
Thence, his own rays examining, he tries
And fashions, as the Nymph may chance advise,
That braver fires may tremble in his eyes;
His mobile face new lightnings flashes far,
With rays more wanton, bickering like a star. R. WI.