ODE

ON THE

APPROACH OF SUMMER.

BY A GENTLEMAN FORMERLY OF THE UNIVER

SITY OF ABERDEEN.

Te dea, te fugiunt venti, te nubila cæli,
Adventumque tuum; tibi fuaveis dædala tellus
Submittit flores; tibi rident æquora ponti ;
Placatumque nitet diffufo lumine cælum.

LUCRETIUS.

ENCE, iron-fcepter'd WINTER, hafte

To bleak Siberian wafte!

Hafte to thy polar folitude;

Mid cataracts of ice,

Whofe torrents dumb are stretch'd in fragments rude,

From many an airy precipice,

Where, ever beat by fleety show'rs,

Thy gloomy Gothic caftle tow'rs;
Amid whofe howling iles and halls,
Where no gay funbeam paints the walls,

On ebon throne thou lov't to shroud,
Thy brows in many a murky cloud.

E'en now, before the vernal heat,
Sullen I fee thy train retreat:
Thy ruthless hoft ftern EURUS guides,
That on a ravenous tiger rides,
Dim-figur'd on whose robe are fhewn
Shipwrecks, and villages o'erthrown:
Grim AUSTER, dropping all with dew,
In mantle clad of watchet hue:

And COLD, like Zemblan favage seen,
Still threatening with his arrows keen;
And next, in furry coat emboft
With icicles, his brother FROST.

WINTER farewell! thy forefts hoar,
Thy frozen floods delight no more;
Farewell the fields, fo bare and wild!

But come thou rofe-cheek'd cherub mild,
Sweeteft SUMMER! hafte thee here,
Once more to crown the gladden'd year.
Thee APRIL blythe, as long of yore,
Bermudas' lawns he frolick'd o’er,
With muskie nectar-trickling wing,
(In the new world's first dawning spring,)
To gather balm of choiceft dews,

And patterns fair of various hues,
With which to paint in changeful dye,
The youthful earth's embroidery;

To cull the effence of rich smells
In which to dip his new-born bells;
Thee, as he skim'd with pinions fleet,
He found an infant, fmiling fweet;
Where a tall citron's fhade imbrown'd
The foft lap of the fragrant ground.
There on an amaranthine bed,

Thee with rare nectarine fruits he fed;
Till foon beneath his forming care,
You bloom'd a goddess debonnair;
And then he gave the bleffed isle
Aye to be fway'd beneath thy fmile:
There plac'd thy green and graffy shrine,
With myrtle bower'd and jeffamine:
And to thy care the tafk affign'd
With quickening hand, and nurture kind,
His roseate infant-birtns to rear,
Till Autumn's mellowing reign appear.
Hafte thee nymph! and hand in hand,
With thee lead a buxom band;
Bring fantaftic-footed Joy,

With Sport that yellow-treffed boy.
Leifure, that through the balmy sky,
Chases a crimson butterfly.

Bring Health that loves in early dawn
To meet the milk-maid on the lawn;
Bring Pleasure, rural nymph, and Peace,
Meek, cottage-loving fhepherdefs!

And that sweet stripling, Zephyr, bring,
Light, and for ever on the wing.
Bring the dear Mufe, that loves to lean
On river-margins, moffy green.
But who is fhe, that bears thy train,
Pacing light the velvet plain?
The pale pink binds her auburn hair,
Her treffes flow with paftoral air;
'Tis May the Grace—confest she stands
By branch of hawthorn in her hands:
Lo! near her trip the lightfome Dews,
Their wings all ting'd in iris-hues;
With whom the pow'rs of Flora play,
And paint with panfies all the way.

Oft when thy feason, sweetest Queen,
Has dreft the groves in liv'ry green ;
When in each fair and fertile field
Beauty begins her bow'r to build ;
While Evening, veil'd in shadows brown,
Puts her matron-mantle on,

And mifts in spreading fteams convey
More fresh the fumes of new-thorn hay;
Then, Goddefs, guide my pilgrim feet
Contemplation hoar to meet,

As flow he winds in museful mood,

Near the rush'd marge of CHERWELL'S flood; Or o'er old Avon's magic edge,

Whence Shakespeare cull'd the spiky fedge,

All playful yet, in years unripe,
To frame a fhrill and fimple pipe.
There thro' the dusk but dimly feen,
Sweet ev'ning objects intervene :
His wattled cotes the fhepherd plants,
Beneath her elm the milk-maid chants.
The woodman, fpeeding home, awhile
Rests him at a fhady stile.

Nor wants there fragrance to difpenfe
Refreshment o'er my foothed sense;
Nor tangled woodbines balmy bloom,
Nor grafs befprent, to breathe perfume:
Nor lurking wild-thyme's fpicy fweet
To bathe in dew my roving feet:
Nor wants there note of Philomel,
Nor found of diftant-tinkling bell:
Nor lowings faint of herds remote,
Nor mastiff's bark from bofom'd cott:
Ruftle the breezes lightly borne
Or deep-embattel'd ears of corn:
Round ancient elm, with humming noife,
Full loud the chaffer-fwarms rejoice.
Meantime, a thoufand dies inveft
The ruby chambers of the Weft!
That all aflant the village tow'r
A mild reflected radiance pour,
While, with the level-ftreaming rays
Far feen its arched windows blaze: