Blest residence! For, there, as poets tell,
The powers of poetry and wisdom2 dwell;
Apollo wakes the arts; the Muses strike the shell.

Certes 3 o'er Rhedicyna's laurel'd mead,
(For ever spread, ye laurels, green and new!)
The brother-stars their gracious nurture shed,
And secret blessings of poetic-dew.

They bathe their horses in the learned flood,
With flame recruited for th' etherial road;
And deem fair Isis' swans fair as their father-god.

No sooner April, trim'd with girlands 5 gay,
Rains fragrance o'er the world, and kindly show'rs;
But, in the eastern-pride of beauty, May,
To gladden Earth, forsakes her heav'nly bow'rs,
Restoring Nature from her palsy'd state.
April, retire; ne longer, Nature, wait:
Son may she issue from the Morning's golden gate.

Come, bounteous May! in fulness of thy might,
Lead briskly on the mirth-infusing Hours,
All-recent from the bosom of delight,
With nectar nurtur'd; and involv'd in flow'rs:
By Spring's sweet blush,by Nature's teeming womb;
By Hebe's dimply smile, by Flora's bloom;

By Venus'-self (for Venus'-self demands thee) come!

By the warm sighs, in dewy even-tide,
Of melting maidens, in the wood-bind-groves,
To pity loosen'd, soften'd down from pride;
By billing turtles, and by cooing doves;
By the youth's plainings stealing on the air,
(For youths will plain, tho' yielding be the fair)
Hither, to bless the maidens and the youths, re-
pair.

With dew bespangled, by the hawthorn-buds,
With freshness breathing, by the daisy'd plains,
By the mix'd music of the warbling woods,
And jovial roundelays of nymphs and swains;
In thy full energy, and rich array,
Delight of Earth and Heav'n! O blessed May!
From Heav'n descend to Earth: on Earth vouch-
safe to stay.

She comes!-A silken camus8, emral'd-green,
Gracefully loose, adown her shoulders flows,
(Fit to enfold the limbs of Paphos' queen)
Aad with the labours of the needle glows,
Purfled by Nature's hand! The amorous Air
And musky-western Breezes fast repair,

Her mantle proud to swell, and wanton with her hair.

Love-sick with odours !-Now to order roll'd,
It melts upon her bosom's dainty mould,
Or, curling round her waist, disparts its wavy
gold.

Young-circling roses, blushing, round them throw
The sweet abundance of their purple rays,
And lilies, dip'd in fragrance, freshly blow,
With blended beauties, in her angel-face
The humid radiance beaming from her eyes
The air and seas illumes, the earth and skies;
And open, where she smiles, the sweets of Para-
dise.

On Zephyr's wing the laughing goddess view,
Distilling balm. She cleaves the buxom Air,
Attended by the silver-footed Dew,

The ravages of Winter to repair.

She gives her naked bosom to the Gales,
Her naked bosom down the ether sails;

Her bosom breathes delight; her breath the Spring exhales.

All as the phenix, in Arabian skies,
New-burnish'd from his spicy funeral pyres,
At large, in roseal1 undulation, flies;

His plumage dazzles and the gazer tires;
Around their king the plumy nations wait,
Attend his triumph, and augment his state:
He tow'ring, claps his wings, and wins th' ethe-
real height.

So round this phenix of the gawdy year
A thousand, nay ten thousand Sports and Smiles,
Fluttering in gold, along the hemisphere,
Her praises chant; her praises glad the isles.
Conscious of her approach (to deck her bow'rs)
Earth from her fruitful lap and bosom pours
A waste of springing sweets, and voluntary flow'rs.
Narcissus fair, in snowy velvet gown'd;
Ah foolish! still to love the fountain-brim:
Sweet Hyacinth3, by Phoebus erst1 bemoan'd;
And tulip, flaring in her powder'd trim.
Whate'er, Armida 5, in thy gardens blew;
Whate'er the Sun inhales, or sips the dew;
Whate'er compose the chaplet on Ianthe's brow.

Pliny tells us, lib. 11, that the phenix is about the bigness of an eagle: the feathers round the neck shining like gold, the body of a purple colour, the tail blue with feathers resembling roses. See Claudian's fine poem on that subject, and Marcellus Donatus, who has a short dissertation on the phenix in his Observations on Tacitus. Annal. Lib. 6. Westley on Job, and sir Tho. Brown's Vulgar Errours.

2 A beautiful youth who, beholding his face in a fountain, fell in love with himself, and pining away was changed into a flower, which bears his name. See Ovid. Metamorph. Lib. 3.

3 Beloved and turned into a flower by Apollo. See the story in Ovid. Met. Lib. 10. There is likewise a curious dialogue in Lucian betwixt Mercury and Apolio on this subject. Servius in his Notes on Virgil's second Bucolic takes the hyacinth to be the vaccinium of the Latins, bearing some similitude with the name.

4 Formerly: long ago,

5 See Tasso's Il Goffredo. Canto 16,

D

He who undaz'd can wander o'er her face,
May gain upon the solar-blaze at noon!-
What more than female sweetness, and a grace
Peculiar! save, Ianthe, thine alone,
Ineffable effusion of the day!

So very much the same, that lovers say,
May is lanthe; or the dear Ianthe, May.

So far as doth the harbinger of day
The lesser lamps of night in sheen 7 excel;
So far in sweetness and in beauty May
Above all other months doth bear the bell.
So far as May doth other months exceed,
So far in virtue and in good lihead 8,

From the wide altar of the foodful Earth [roll;
The flow'rs, the herbs, the plants, their incense
The orchards swell the ruby-tinctur'd birth;
The vermil-gardens breath the spicy soul.
Grateful to May, the nectar-spirit flies,
The wafted clouds of lavish'd odours rise,
The Zephyr's balmy burthen, worthy of the skies.

The bee, the golden daughter of the Spring,
From mead to mead, in wanton labour, roves,
And loads its little thigh, or gilds its wing
With all the essence of the flushing groves:
Extracts the aromatic soul of flow'rs,
And, humming in delight, its waxen bow'rs

Welcome! as to a youthful poet, wine,
To fire his fancy, and enlarge his soul:
He weaves the laurel-chaplet with the vine,
And grows immortal as he drains the bowl.
Welcome! as beauty to the lovesick swain,
For which he long had sigh'd, but sigh'd in vain;
He darts into her arms; quick-vanishes his pain.

The drowsy elements, arous'd by thee,
Roll to harmonious measures, active all!
Earth, water, air, and fire, with feeling glee,
Exult to celebrate thy festival.

Fire glows intenser; softer, blows the air;
More smooth the waters flow; earth smiles more
fair:

Earth, water, air and fire, thy glad'ning impulse share.

hours.

Touch'd by thee, May, the flocks and lusty droves
That low in pastures, or on mountains bleat,
Revive their frolics and renew their loves.
Stung to the marrow with a generous heat,
The stately courser, bounding o'er the plain,
Shakes to the winds the honours of his mane,
(High-arch'd his neck) and, snuffing, hopes the
dappled train.

The aëreal songsters sooth the list'ning groves:
The mellow thrush, the ouzle sweetly shrill,
And little linnet celebrate their loves
In hawthorn valley, or on tufted hill;
The soaring lark, the lowly nightingale,
A thorn her pillow, trills her doleful tale,
And melancholy music dies along the dale.

This gay exuberance of gorgeous Spring,
The gilded mountain, and the herbag'd vale,
The woods that blossom, and the birds that sing,
The murmuring fountain and the breathing dale:
The dale, the fountains, birds and woods delight,
The vales, the mountains and the Spring invite,
Yet unadorn'd by May, no longer charm the sight.

When Nature laughs around, shall man alone,
Thy image, hang (ah me!) the sickly head?
When Nature sings, shall Nature's glory groan,
And languish for the pittance poor of bread!
O may the man that shall his image scorn,
Alive, be ground with hunger, most forlorn,
Die unanell'd3, and dead, by dogs and kites be torn.

Curs'd may he be (as if he were not so.)
Nay doubly curs'd be such a breast of steel,
Which never melted at another's woe,
Nor tenderness of bowels knew to feel.
His heart is black as Hell, in flowing store
Who hears the needy crying at his door,
Who hears them cry, ne recks; but suffers
them be poor.

But blest, O more than doubly blest be he!
Let honour crown him and eternal rest,
Whose bosom, the sweet fount of charity,
Flows out to noursle 5 innocence distrest.
His ear is open to the widow's cries,
His hand the orphan's cheek of sorrow drys;
Like Mercy's self he looks on want with Pity's

eyes.

2 Blackbird, 3 Without a funeral knell. Nor is concerned. 5 To nurse.

In this blest season, pregnant with delight,
Ne may the boading owl with screeches wound
The solemn silence of the quiet night,
Ne croaking raven, with unhallow'd sound,
Ne damned ghost affray with deadly yell
The waking lover, rais'd by mighty spell,

To pale the stars, till Hesper shine it back to Hell.

Ne witches rifle gibbets, by the Moon,
(With horrour winking, trembling all with fear)
Of many a clinking chain, and canker'd bone:
Nor imp in visionary shape appear,
To blast the thriving verdure of the plain;
Ne let hobgoblin, ne the ponk, profane [ing brain.
With shadowy glare the light, and mad the burst-

Yet fairy-elves (so ancient custom's will8)
The green-gown'd fairy elves, by starry sheen 9,
May gambol or in valley or on hill,
And leave their footsteps on the circled green.
Full lightly trip it, dapper Mab, around;
Full featly, Ob'ron, thou, o'er grass-turf bound:
Mab brushes off no dew-drops, Ob'ron prints no
ground.

Ne1 bloody rumours violate the ear,
Of cities sack'd, and kingdoms desolate,
With plague or sword, with pestilence or war;
Ne rueful murder stain thy era-date;
Ne shameless Cafumny, for fell despight,
The foulest fiend that e'er blasphem'd the light,
At lovely lady rail, nor grin at courteous knight.

Ne wailing in our streets nor fields be heard,
Ne voice of Misery assault the heart;
Ne fatherless from table be debar'd;
Ne piteous tear from eye of Sorrow start;
But Plenty, pour thyself into the bowl
Of bounty-head; may never Want control

And while the virgins hail thee with their voice,
Heaping thy crowded way with greens and flow'rs,
And in the fondness of their heart rejoice
To sooth, with dance and song, thy gentler hours;
Indulge the season, and with sweet repair
Embay thy limbs, the vernal beauties share:
Then blaze in arms again, renew'd for future war.

Britannia's happy isle derives from May
The choicest blessings Liberty bestows:
When royal Charles (for ever hail the day!)
In mercy triumph'd o'er ignoble foes.
Restor'd with him, the Arts the drooping head
Gaily again uprcar'd; the Muses' shade [array'd.
With fresher honours bloom'd, in greener trim

And thou, the goodliest blossom of our isles!
Great Frederic's and his Augusta's joy,
Thy native month approv'd with infant smiles,
Sweet as the siniling May, imperial boy!
Britannia hopes thee for her future lord,
Lov'd as thy parents, only not ador'd!
Whene'er a George is born, Charles is again re-
stor'd.

O may his father's pant for finer fame,
And boundless bountyhead to humankind;
His grandsire's glory, and his uncle's name,
Renown'd in war! inflame his ardent mind:
So arts shall flourish 'neath his equal sway,
So arms the hostile nations wide affray;
The laurel, Victory; Apollo, wear the bay.

Through kind infusion of celestial pow'r,
The dullard-Earth May quick'neth with delight:
Full suddenly the seeds of joy recure3
Elastic spring, and force within empight 4.
If senseless elements invigorate prove
By genial May, and heavy matter move,

[love?

mish'd soul.

Now let the trumpet's martial thunders sleep;
The viol wake alone, and tender flute :

The Phrygian lyre with sprightly fingers sweep,
And, Erato, dissolve the Lydian-lute.

Yet Clio frets, and burns with honest pain,
To rouze and animate the martial strain,
While British banners flame o'er many a purpled
plain.

The trumpet sleeps, but soon for thee shall wake,
Illustious chief! to sound thy mighty name,
(Snatch'd from the malice of Lethean-lake)
Triumphant-swelling from the mouth of Fame.
Mean while, disdain not (so the virgins pray)
This rosy-crown, with myrtle wove and bay;
(Too humble crown I ween) the offering of May.

Ye shepherdesses, in a goodly round,
Purpled with health, as in the greenwood-shade,
Incontinent ye thump the echoing ground
And deftly 5 lead the dance along the glade!
(O may no show'rs your merry-makes affray!)
Hail at the op'ning, at the closing day,
All hail, ye bounibels, to your own season, May.

Nor ye absent yourselves, ye shepherd-swains,
But lend to dance and song the liberal May,
And while in jocund ranks you beat the plains,
Your flocks shall nibble, and your lambkins play,
Frisking in glee. To May your girlands bring,
And ever and anon her praises sing:

The woods shall echo May, with May the valleys ring.

Hard is his heart, unmelted by thee, May!
Unconscious of Love's nectar-tickling sting,
And, unrelenting, cold to Beauty's ray;
Beauty the mother and the child of Spring!
Beauty and Wit declare the sexes even;
Beauty, to woman, Wit to man is given;
Neither the slime of Earth, but each the fire of
Heav'n.

Alliance sweet! let Beauty Wit approve,
As flow'rs to sunshine ope the ready breast:
Wit Beauty loves, and nothing else can love:
The best alone is grateful to the best.
Perfection has no other parallel !

Can light, with darkness; doves with ravens dwell?

As soon, perdie 5, shall Heav'n communion hold with Hell.

I sing to you, who love alone for love:
For gold the beauteous fools (O fools besure!)
Can win; tho' brighter Wit shall never inove:
But Folly is to Wit the certain cure,
Curs'd be the men, (or be they young or old)
Curs'd be the women, who themselves have sold
To the detested bed for lucre base of gold.

Not Julia such: she higher honour deem'd
To languish in the Sulmo poet's arms,
Than, by the potentates of Earth esteem'd,
To give to sceptres and to crowns her charms.
Not Laura such: in sweet Vauclusa's vale
She list'ned to her Petrarch's amorous tale.
But did poor Colin Clout o'er Rosalind prevail?

Howe'er that be; in Acidalian shade,
Embracing Julia, Ovid melts the day:
No dreams of banishment his loves invade;
Encircled in eternity of May,

Here Petrarch with his Laura, soft reclin'd
On violets, gives sorrow to the wind:
And Colin Clout pipes to the yielding Rosalind.

5 An old word for asserting any thing.
6 Spenser.

7 These three celebrated poets and lovers were all of them unhappy in their amours. Ovid was banished on account of his passion for Julia. | Death deprived Petrarch of his beloved Laura very early; as he himself tells us in his account of his own life. These are his words:" Amore acerrimo, sed unico & honesto, in adolescentia laboravi, & diutius laborassem, nisi jam tepescentem ignem mors acerba, sed utilis, extinxisset." See his works, Basil, fol. tom. 1. Yet others say, she married another person; which is scarce probable; since Petrarch lamented her death for ten years afterwards, as appears from Sonetto 313, with a most uncommon ardour of passion. Thomasinus in his curious book, called Petrarcha Redivivus, has given us two prints of Laura, with an account of her family, their loves, and his sweet retirement in Vaucluse. As for Spenser, we may conclude that his love for Rosalinda proved unsuccessful from his pathetical complaints, in several of his poems, of her cruelty. The author, therefore, thought it only a poetical kind of justice to reward them in this imaginary retreat of lovers, for the misfortunes they really suffered here on account of their passion.