On
BATHING
.
A
SONNET
.
By
the
Same
.
WHEN
late
the
trees
were
stript
by
Winter
pale
,
Fair
HEALTH
,
a
Dryad-maid
in
vesture
green
,
Rejoyc'd
to
rove
'mid
the
bleak
sylvan
scene
,
On
airy
uplands
caught
the
fragrant
gale
,
And
ere
fresh
morn
the
low-couch'd
lark
did
hail
Watching
the
sound
of
earliest
horn
was
seen
.
But
since
gay
Summer
,
thron'd
in
chariot
sheen
,
Is
come
to
scorch
each
primrose
sprinkled
dale
,
She
chuses
that
delightful
cave
beneath
The
crystal
treasures
of
meek
Isis'
stream
;
And
now
all
glad
the
temperate
air
to
breathe
,
While
cooling
drops
distil
from
arches
dim
,
Binding
her
dewy
locks
with
sedgy
wreath
She
sits
amid
the
quire
of
Naiads
trim
.