Spring

As yet the trembling year is unconfirm'd,

And Winter oft at eve resumes the breeze,

Chills the pale morn, and bids his driving sleets

Deform the day delightless; so that scarce

The Bittern knows his time, with bill ingulpht,

To shake the sounding marsh; or from the shore

The Plover when to scatter o'er the heath,

And sing their wild notes to the listening waste.

At last from Aries rolls the bounteous sun,

And the bright Bull receives him. Then no more

Th' expansive atmosphere is cramp'd with cold;

But, full of life, and vivifying soul,

Lifts the light clouds sublime, and spreads them thin,

Fleecy, and white, o'er all-surrounding heaven.