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Born in yon blaze of orient sky,
Sweet May! thy radiant form unfold ; Unclose thy blue and tender eye,
And wave thy shadowy locks of gold.
For thee the fragrant zephyrs blow,
For thee descends the sunny shower; The rills in softer murmur flow,
And brighter blossoms gem the bower.
Come away! the sunny hours
In their play,
Come away !
All the air is filled with sound,
Lightly stray ;
Come away! Where the bee's deep music swells, From the trembling fox-glove bells
In the deep heart of the rose,
Sheds a ray,
Come away! Where the fairy cup-moss lies, With the wild wood-strawberries,
Bear me, Pomona, to thy citron groves ;
Awake! the morning shines, and the fresh fields
INVITATION TO SOLITUDE.
But when the sun Shakes from his noon-day throne the scatt'ring clouds, E'en shooting listless languor through the deeps; Then seek the bank where flow'ring elders crowd ; Where, scatter'd wild, the lily of the vale Its balmy essence breathes ; where cowslips hang The dewy head; where purple violets lurk With all the lowly children of the shade ; Or lie reclin'd beneath yon spreading ash Hung o'er the steep, whence, borne on liquid wing, The sounding culver shoots ; or where the hawk High in the beetling cliff his aerie builds. There let the classic page thy fancy lead Through rural scenes, such as the Mantuan swain Paints in the matchless harmony of song ;
Or catch thyself the landscape, gliding swift
THE PARTING OF SUMMER.
Thou'rt bearing hence the roses,
Glad Summer, fare thee well!
In every wood and dell.
Brightly, sweet Summer! brightly
Thine hours have floated by,
The rangers of the sky.
And brightly in the forest,
To the wild deer ering free
To the happy murmuring bee.