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 effence of the flushing groves :
Extracts the aromatic foul of flowers,
And, humming in delight, its waxen bowers
Fills with the luscious fpoil, and lives ambrofial hours.
Touch'd by thee, May, the flocks and lufty droves,
That low in paftures, or on mountains bleat,
Revive their frolics and renew their loves,
Stung to the marrow with thy generous heat:
The stately courfer, bounding o'er the plain,
Shakes to the winds the honours of his mane,
(High arch'd his neck) and fnuffing, hopes the
dappled train.
Th' aerial fongfters footh the liftening groves:
The mellow thrufh, the (q) ouzle fweetly shrill,
And little linnets celebrate their loves
In hawthorn valley, or on tufted hill:
The foaring lark; the lowly nightingale,
A thorn her pillow, trills her doleful tale,
And melancholy music dies along the dale.
This gay exuberance of the gorgeous fpring,
The gilded mountain, and the herbag'd vale;
The woods that bloffom, and the birds that fing,
The murmuring fountain, and the breathing dale:
The dale, the fountains, birds and woods delight,
The vales, the mountains, and the fpring invite,
Yet, unadorn'd by May, no longer charm the fight.
When Nature laughs around, fhall man alone,
Thy image, hang (ah me!) the fickly head?
When Nature fings, fhall Nature's glory groan,
And languish for the pittance poor of bread?
O may the man that fhall his image fcorn,
Alive, be ground with hunger, moft forlorn,
Die (r) unanell'd, and dead, by dogs and kites be
Curs'd may he be (as if he were not fo)
Nay doubly curs'd be fuch 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, [be poor.
Who hears them cry, (s) ne recks; but fuffers them
(r) Unanell'd] Without a funeral knell, (s) Ne recks] Nor is concern'd.
But bleft, O more than doubly blest be he!
Let honour crown him and eternal rest,
Whofe bofom, the fweet fount of charity,
Flows out to (t) nourfle Innocence distrest:
His ear is open to the widow's cries,
His hand the orphan's cheek of forrow dries;
Like mercy's felf he looks on want with pity's eyes.
In this bleft season, pregnant with delight,
Ne may the boading owl with fcreeches wound
The folemn filence of the quiet night,
Ne croaking raven, with unhallow'd found,
Ne damned ghoft (u) affray with deadly yell
The waking lover, rais'd by mighty fpell,
To pale the stars, till Hefper fhine it back to hell.
Ne Witches rifle gibbets, by the moon,
(With horror winking, trembling all with fear)
Of many a clinking chain, and canker'd bone:
Nor Imp in vifionary shape, appear,
To blast the thriving verdure of the plain;
Ne let Hobgoblin, ne the Ponk profane [brain.
With shadowy glare the light, and mad the bursting
Yet fairy-elves (x) (fo antient cuftom's will)
The green-gown'd fairy-elves, by starry sheen,
May gambol or in valley or on hill,
And leave your 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.
Ne bloody rumours violate the ear
Of cities fack'd, and kingdoms defolate,
With plague or fword, with peftilence or war;
Ne rueful murder stain thy æra-date ;
Ne fhameless calumny, for fell defpight,
The fouleft fiend that e'er blafphem'd the light,
At lovely lady rail, nor grin at courteous knight.
Ne wailing in our streets nor fields be heard,
Ne voice of mifery affault the heart;
Ne fatherless from table be debarr'd;
Ne piteous tear from eye of forrow start:
But Plenty, pour thyfelf into the bowl
Of bounty-head; may never want controul [foul.
That good, good honeft man, who feeds the famifh'd
Now
(x) So antient cuftom's will] The Lemuria, or rites facred to the Lemures, were celebrated by the Romans in May. They
Now let the trumpet's martial thunders fleep;
The viol wake alone, and tender flute :
The Phrygian lyre with sprightly fingers sweep,
And, Erato, diffolve the Lydian lute :
Yet Clio frets and burns, with honeft pain,
To rouze and animate the martial ftrain, [plain.
Since William charg'd the foe on fam'd Culloden's
The trumpet fleeps, but foon for thee shall wake, Illuftrious Chief! to found thy mighty name, (Snatch'd from the malice of Lethean lake) Triumphant-fwelling from the mouth of Fame : Mean-while, difdain not (fo the virgins pray) This rofy crown, with myrtle wove and bay, (Too humble crown I ween) the offering of May.
And while the virgins hail thee with their voice,
Heaping thy crouded way with greens and flowers,
And in the fondnefs of their heart rejoice
To footh, with dance and fong, thy gentler hours:
Indulge the feason, and with sweet repair
Embay thy limbs, the vernal bleffing share:
Then blaze in arms again, renew'd for future war.
imagined the Lemures (in English, Fairies) to be like ghosts of deceased perfons: But our traditional accounts are very different in respect to the nature of Fairies.
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