Classic Poem

Stern Winter now forsakes the Plain,
Enchanting Nature smiles again;
Each Tree its Foliage reassumes,
And new-born Zephyrs breathe Perfumes.
Where'er we turn our ravish'd Eyes,
Luxuriant Scenes of Beauty rise,
The Meadow, now of lively Green,
Before, a cheerless barren Scene;
Each flow'ry Border, trembling Rill,
Each smiling Vale, and airy Hill,
Now all their various Beauties boast,
Each seems to strive to please the most.
What Joys await the Farmer's Toil,
His Hours of Labour to beguile?
On ev'ry Spray the feather'd Throng
Retune their half-forgotten Song.
See! from the Ground the Lark arise,
And soaring mock our wond'ring Eyes;
Still as he soars his Notes decay,
Till the faint Warblings die away.
And when the Sun's last glimm'ring Beam
Bids him unyoke his weary Team,
As homeward to his Cot he steers,
What Transport ev'rywhere appears?
Now in a sweeter, wilder Note
The Blackbird swells his tuneful throat;
Around, his fleecy Charge are seen
Wide browsing o'er the tufted Green;
Whose tender Lambs in wanton Play
Leap to and fro, and cross his way.
Their Labours done, each youthful Swain
Trips with his sweet-heart o'er the Plain;
And joins the jovial rustic Band,
That circling sport it Hand in Hand.
All Nature lost in sweet Repose,
The peaceful Night no Tumult knows:
Nothing awake, but Philomel,
Whose plaintive Music seems to tell,
By what untimely Fate she fell:
All Night she tunes her woe-fraught Lay,
But bashful, shuns th' approach of Day.
The Bee, as if but now alive,
Early forsakes the busy Hive;
From Flow'r to Flow'r the Insect fleets,
And from the bitter culls the Sweets.
How happy for too thoughtless Man!
Wou'd he, like it, improve his Span!
In Virtue's Search wou'd thus delight,
And, where the Good and Bad unite,
Virtue shou'd meet Distinction find,
And odious Vice be left behind.