| |
| O THOU that from the green vales of the West | |
| Com’st in thy tender robes with bashful feet, | |
| And to the gathering clouds | |
| Liftest thy soft blue eye: | |
| |
| I woo thee, Spring!—tho’ thy dishevell’d hair | 5 |
| In misty ringlets sweep thy snowy breast, | |
| And thy young lips deplore | |
| Stern Boreas’ ruthless rage: | |
| |
| While morn is steep’d in dews, and the dank show’r | |
| Drops from the green boughs of the budding trees; | 10 |
| And the thrush tunes his song | |
| Warbling with unripe throat: | |
| |
| Thro’ the deep wood where spreads the sylvan oak | |
| I follow thee, and see thy hands unfold | |
| The love-sick primrose pale | 15 |
| And moist-eyed violet: | |
| |
| While in the central grove, at thy soft voice, | |
| The Dryads start forth from their wintry cells, | |
| And from their oozy waves | |
| The Naiads lift their heads | 20 |
| |
| In sedgy bonnets trimm’d with rushy leaves | |
| And water-blossoms from the forest stream, | |
| To pay their vows to thee, | |
| Their thrice adorèd queen! | |
| |
| The stripling shepherd wand’ring thro’ the wood | 25 |
| Startles the linnet from her downy nest, | |
| Or wreathes his crook with flowers, | |
| The sweetest of the fields. | |
| |
| From the grey branches of the ivied ash | |
| The stock-dove pours her vernal elegy, | 30 |
| While further down the vale | |
| Echoes the cuckoo’s note. | |
| |
| Beneath this trellis’d arbour’s antique roof, | |
| When the wild laurel rustles in the breeze, | |
| By Cam’s slow murmuring stream | 35 |
| I waste the live-long day; | |
| |
| And bid thee, Spring, rule fair the infant year, | |
| Till my loved Maid in russet stole approach: | |
| O yield her to my arms, | |
| Her red lips breathing love! | 40 |
| |
| So shall the sweet May drink thy falling tears, | |
| And on thy blue eyes pour a beam of joy; | |
| And float thy azure locks | |
| Upon the western wind. | |
| |
| So shall the nightingale rejoice thy woods, | 45 |
| And Hesper early light his dewy star; | |
| And oft at eventide | |
| Beneath the rising moon, | |
| |
| May lovers’ whispers soothe thy list’ning ear, | |
| And as they steal the soft impassion’d kiss, | 50 |
| Confess thy genial reign, | |
| O love-inspiring Spring! | |
| |
