VERSES
WRITTEN
IN
THE
SPRING
.
FROM
yon
fair
hill
,
whose
woody
crest
The
mantling
hand
of
spring
has
dress'd
,
Where
gales
imbibe
the
May-perfume
,
And
strew
the
blushing
almond's
bloom
,
I
view
the
verdant
plains
below
,
And
lucid
streams
which
gently
flow
;
The
opening
foliage
,
drench'd
with
showers
,
Weeps
o'er
the
odorous
vernal
flowers
;
And
while
before
my
temper'd
eye
From
glancing
clouds
swift
shadows
fly
,
While
nature
seems
serene
and
bless'd
,
And
inward
concord
tunes
my
breast
,
I
sigh
for
those
by
fortune
cross'd
,
Whose
souls
to
Nature's
charms
are
lost
.
Whether
by
love
of
wealth
betray'd
,
Absorb'd
in
all
the
arts
of
trade
,
Or
deep
engross'd
in
mighty
schemes
,
Toss'd
in
ambition's
empty
dreams
,
Or
proud
amid
the
learned
schools
,
Stiffen'd
by
dull
pedantic
rules
,
Or
those
who
ne'er
from
forms
depart
,
The
slaves
of
fashion
and
of
art
.
O!
lost
to
bliss
!
the
pregnant
air
,
The
rising
sun
,
the
ripening
year
,
The
embrios
that
on
every
bush
'Midst
the
wild
notes
of
songsters
blush
;
The
violet's
scent
,
the
varying
hues
Which
morn's
light
ray
strikes
'mid
the
dews
,
To
them
are
lost
—
Involv'd
in
care
,
They
cannot
feel
,
they
cannot
share
.
I
grieve
,
when
round
I
cast
my
eyes
,
And
feel
a
thousand
pleasures
rise
,
That
this
fair
earth
,
by
Heaven
bestow'd
,
(
Which
human
fury
stains
with
blood
)
Should
teem
with
joys
which
reach
the
heart
,
And
man
be
thus
absorb'd
in
art
.