'Twas Spring, 'twas Summer, all was gay, Now Autumn bends a cloudy brow; The flowers of Spring are swept away, And Summer fruits desert the bough. The verdant leaves that play'd on high, And wanton'd on the western breeze, Now trod in dust neglected lie, As Boreas strips the bending trees. The fields that wav'd with golden grain, No more while through the midnight shade, From this capricious clime she soars, Vain wish! me fate compels to bear Compels to breathe polluted air, What bliss to life can Autumn yield, If glooms, and showers, and storms prevail; And Ceres flies the naked field, And flowers, and fruits, and Phoebus fail? Oh! what remains, what lingers yet, Haste-press the clusters, fill the bowl; Still-still the jocund strain shall flow, And every bliss in wine shall meet. 'Twas Spring, 'twas Summer, all was gay, Now Autumn bends a cloudy brow; The flowers of Spring are swept away, And Summer fruits desert the bough. The verdant leaves that play'd on high, As Boreas strips the bending trees. The fields that wav'd with golden grain, No more while through the midnight shade, From this capricious clime she soars, Vain wish! me fate compels to bear Compels to breathe polluted air, What bliss to life can Autumn yield, If glooms, and showers, and storms prevail; And Ceres flies the naked field, And flowers, and fruits, and Phoebus fail? Oh! what remains, what lingers yet, To cheer me in the darkening hour? The grape remains! the friend of wit, In love and mirth of mighty power. Haste-press the clusters, fill the bowl; Still-still the jocund strain shall flow, WINTER. AN ODE. BY THE SAME. No more the morn with tepid rays The lingering hours prolong the night, By gloomy twilight half reveal'd, No music warbles through the grove, Aloud the driving tempest roars, Congeal'd, impetuous showers descend; Haste, close the window, bar the doors, Fate leaves me Stella and a friend. |