Though Winter's frowns had damp'd the beaming eye,
Through Twelve successive Sumers heav'd the sigh,
The unaccomplish'd wish was still the same
Till May in new and sudden glories came.
My heart was rous'd; and fancy on the wing
Thus heard the language of enchanting spring,
'Come to thy native groves and fruitful fields
Thou know'st the fragrance that the wild-flower yields
Inhale the Breeze that bends the purple bud,
And plays along the margin of the wood
I've cloath'd them all; the very woods where thou,
In infancy learn'd'st praise from every bough,
Would'st thou behold again the vernal day,
My reign is short; — this instant come away:
Ere Philomel shall silent meet the morn,
Come, ere the pastures lose their yellow flow'rs
Come now; with heart as jocund as the hours,'
Who could resist the call? — that Giles had done,
Not heard the Birds, nor seen the rising Sun
Had not Benevolence with chearing ray,
And greatness stoop'd indulgent to display,
Praise which does surely not to Giles belong,
But to the object that inspired his song
Immediat pleasures from those praises flow'd
Remoter bliss within his bosom glow'd,
Now tasted all — for I have heard and seen
The long-remember'd voice, the church, the Green; —
And oft by Friendship's gentle hand been led
Where many an hospitable board was spread,
These would I name.... but each, and all can feel,
What the heart would willingly reveal,
Nor needs be told; that all each season's birth,
Till th'enamelled, or the scorching Earth
Gave, as each morn or weary night would come,
Ideal sweetness to my distant home
Ideal now no more — for to my View
Springs promise rose, how admirably true
The early chorus of the chearful Grove
Gave point to Gratitude; and fire to Love,
O Memory shield me from the Worlds poor strife
And give these scenes thy everlasting Life