ON SPRING. BY WILLIAM HAMILTON OF BANGOUR, ESQ. Immortalia ne speres, monet annus----- HOR. Now Spring begins her smiling round, With ruby-tinctur'd births shall glow; Sweet smells, from beds of lilies born, Now young and blooming thou art seen, Sad emblem of our own decay ! His grisly hand in icy chains Fair Tweda's silver flood constrains: Frequenting now the stream no more, Be like to this another day? Yet, when in snow and dreary frost To lead the dance, to court the fair, Unhappy love! might lovers say, Virtues prepare with early care, That Love may live on Wisdom's fare; Vol. XIV. C Tho' ecstasy with beauty flies, Esteem is born when beauty dies. Happy to whom the Fates decree The gift of heav'n in giving thee: Thy beauty shall his youth engage; Thy virtue shall delight his age. WRITTEN IN SPRING. AND SENT TO HIS GRACE DR. THOMAS HERRING, Archbishop of Canterbury. BY THE REV, FRANCIS FAWKES, M. A. BRIGHT God of day, whose genial power Revives the buried seed, That spreads with foliage every bower, Bid all thy vernal breezes fly Diffusing mildness through the sky; Enough has Winter's hand severe |