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THE FIRST OF APRIL,
WI Ith dalliance rude young Zephyr woos
While from the shrubbery's naked maze,
Scant along the ridgy land The beans their new-born ranks expand : The fresh-turn'd soil with tender blades Thinly the sprouting barley shades: Fringing the forest's devious edge, Half robed appears the hawthorn hedge; Or to the distant eye displays Weakly green its budding sprays.
The swallow, for a moment seen,
Fraught with a transient, frozen shower, If a cloud should haply lower,
Sailing o'er the landscape dark,
Where in venerable rows Widely-waving oaks inclose The moat of yonder antique hall, Swarm the rooks with clamorous call; And, to the toils of nature true, Wreathe their capacious nests anew.
Musing through the lawny park, The lonely poet loves to mark How various greens in faint degrees Tinge the tall groups of various trees; While, careless of the changing year, The pine cerulean, never sere, Towers distinguish'd from the rest, And proudly vaunts her winter vest.
Within some whispering osier isle, Where Glym's low banks neglected smile, And each trim meadow still retains The wintry torrent's oozy stains, Beneath a willow, long forsook, The fisher seeks his custom'd nook; And bursting through the crackling sedge, That crowns the current's cavern'd edge, He startles from the bordering wood The bashtul wild-duck's early brood.
O’er the broad downs, a novel race,
His free-born vigour yet unbroke To lordly man's usurping yoke, The bounding colt forgets to play, Basking beneath the noon-tide ray, And streteh'd among the daisies pied Of a green dingle's sloping side : While far beneath, where nature spreads Her boundless length of level meads, In loose luxuriance taught to stray, A thousand tumbling rills inlay
With silver veins the vale, or pass
Yet, in these presages rude,
ODE ON THE APPROACH OF SUMMER.
Hence, iron-sceptred Winter, haste
To bleak Siberian waste !
Mid cataracts of ice,