PRIMROSES. O for the voice and fire of seraphim, To sing thy glories with devotion due! 49 BEATTIE. PRIMROSES. WHY doe ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears Speak griefe in you, Who were but borne, Just as the modest morne Teemed her refreshing dew? Alas! you have not known that shower That marres a flower; Nor felt th' unkind Breath of a blasting wind; Nor are ye worne with Or wrap't, as we, yeares; Who think it strange to see Such pretty flowers (like to orphans young), Speak, whimp'ring younglings; and make known Ye droop, and weep. 50 FROM AN ODE TO SUMMER. Is it for want of sleep; Or childish lullabie? Or, that ye have not seen as yet The violet? Or brought a kisse From that sweetheart to this? No, no; this sorrow, shown By your teares shed, Would have this lecture read, "That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, Conceived with grief are, and with teares brought forth." HERRICK. FROM AN ODE TO SUMMER. BUT when mild Morn, in saffron stole, First issues from her eastern goal, FROM AN ODE TO SUMMER. The groves and castled cliffs appear O! every village charm beneath! The smoke that mounts in azure wreath! The simple spire, and elmy grange! With whom 'tis youth and laughter all; And all the globe a bower of bliss! 51 52 FIELD SPORTS. In valleys where mild whispers use, Of shade and stream to court the muse, While wandering o'er the brook's dim verge, NEXT will I sing the valiant falcon's fame; FIELD SPORTS. Piercing th' opponent clouds: the falcon swift Gives vigor to her wings. Another soon Strains after to support the bold attack, 53 And spreading all their shrouds; she makes the main Inviting every gale, nor yet forgets To clear her deck, and tell th' insulting foe, In peals of thunder, Britons cannot fear; So flies the hern pursued, but fighting flies. Hangs o'er him like a cloud, then aims her blow |