Spring

Come, gentle Spring, æthereal Mildness, come;

And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud,

While music wakes around, veil'd in a shower

Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend!

O Hartford, fitted, or to shine in courts

With unaffected grace, or walk the plain

With innocence and meditation join'd

In soft assemblage, listen to my song,

Which thy own Season paints! when Nature all

Is blooming, and benevolent like thee.

And see where surly Winter passes off,

Far to the north and calls his ruffian blasts:

His blasts obey and quit the howling hill,

The shatter'd forest, and the ravag'd vale;

While softer gales succeed, at whose kind touch,

Disolving snows in livid torrents lost,

The mountains lift their green heads to the sky.