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MAY.

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.

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Come away! the sunny hours
Woo thee far to founts and bowers !
O'er the very waters now,

In their play,
Flowers are shedding beauty's glow,

Come away!
Where the lily's tender gleam
Quivers on the glowing stream,

Come away !

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All the air is filled with sound,
Soft, and sultry, and profound;
Murmurs through the shadowy grass

Lightly stray ;
Faint winds whisper, as they pass,

Come away! Where the bee's deep music swells, From the trembling fox-glove bells

Come away!

In the deep heart of the rose,
Now the crimson love-hue glows;
Now the glow-worm's lamp, by night,

Sheds a ray,
Dreary, starry, greenly bright,

Come away! Where the fairy cup-moss lies, With the wild wood-strawberries,

Come away!

MRS. HEMANS.

SUMMER_THE TROPICS.

Bear me, Pomona, to thy citron groves ;
To where the lemon, and the piercing lime,
With the deep orange, glowing through the green,
Their lighter glories blend. Lay me reclined
Beneath the spreading tamarind that shakes,
Fanned by the breeze, its ever-cooling fruit.
Deep in the night the massy locust sheds,
Quench my hot limbs ; or lead me through the maze,
Embowering endless, of the Indian fig:
Or thrown at gayer ease, on some fair brow,
Let me behold, by breezy murmurs cooled,
Broad o'er my head the verdant cedars wave,
And high palmettos lift their graceful shade.
Or stretched amid these orchards of the sun,
Give me to drain the cocoa's milky bowl,
And from the palm to draw its freshening wine,
More bounteous far than all the frantic juice
Which Bacchus pours. Nor, on its slender twigs,
Low bending, be the full pomegranate scorned ;
Nor, creeping through the wood, the gelid race
Of berries. Oft in humble station dwells
Unboastful worth, above fastidious pomp.
Witness, thou best Anana! thou, the pride
Of vegetable life, beyond whate'er
The poets fabled in the golden age :
Quick let me strip thee of thy tufty coat,
Spread thy ambrosial store, and feast with Jove.

THOMSON.

SUMMER MORNING.

Awake! the morning shines, and the fresh fields
Call you : ye lose the prime to mark how spring
The tender plants ; how blows the citron grove;
What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed;
How Nature paints her colours ; how the bee
Sits on the bloom extracting liquid sweets.

MILTON

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
Athwart imagination's vivid eye :
Or by the vocal woods and waters lullid,
And lost in lonely musing, in the dream,
Confus’d, of careless solitude, where mix
Ten thousand wand'ring images of things,
Soothe ev'ry gust of passion into peace ;
All but the swellings of the soften'd heart,
That waken, not disturb, the tranquil mind.

THOMSON.

THE PARTING OF SUMMER.

Thou'rt bearing hence the roses,

Glad Summer, fare thee well!
Thou’rt singing thy last melodies

In every wood and dell.

Brightly, sweet Summer! brightly

Thine hours have floated by,
To the joyous birds of the woodland boughs,

The rangers of the sky.

And brightly in the forest,

To the wild deer ering free
And brightly, 'midst the garden flowers,

To the happy murmuring bee.

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