Maria, come! Now let us rove, Now gather garlands in the grove, Of every new-fprung flower; We'll hear the warblings of the wood, We'll trace the windings of the flood; O come Thou, fairer than the bud Unfolding in a shower! Fair as the lily of the vale, That gives its bosom to the gale And opens in the Sun; And sweeter than thy favourite dove, The Venus of the vernal grove, Announcing to the choirs of love Their time of bliss begun. Now, Now, now, thy Spring of Life appears; Fair in the morning of thy years, And May of Beauty crown'd: And brighter days in better skies ;- Now, now's the morning of thy day; What What youth, high-favour'd of the skies, What youth fhall win the brightest prize That Nature has in store? Whose confcious eyes shall meet with thine; Who, ravish'd with thy charms divine, Not happier the Primæval Pair, When new-made earth, fupremely fair, Smiled on her virgin Spring; When all was fair to God's own eye, When stars consenting fung on high, And all Heaven's Chorus made the sky With Hallellujahs ring. Devoted Devoted to the Muses' choir, I tune the Caledonian lyre To themes of high renown :No other theme than You I'll chuse, Than You invoke no other Muse: Nor will that gentle hand refuse Thy Bard with bays to crown. Where hills by storied streams afcend, My dreams and waking wishes tend Where Fairy fingers curl the grove, Alone Inamour'd with the love Of Nature and of You! S ON G. T HE day is departed, and round from the cloud The voice of the Nightingale warbles aloud I cannot when present unfold what I feel, Her name to the shepherds I never reveal, |