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CLASSICAL MODERN POETRY. 



THE SEASONS. 



Oft have I seen the laughing Spring 



Shed her rich blessings o'er the earth, 

 While born beneath her fragrant wing, 



Spring Beauty forth, and Love, and Mirth. 

 But Spring soon fled, and Summer then 



Her genial heats diffused around, 

 And Nature's wildest, roughest glen 



Was by her hand with verdure crown'd. 



Sweet Summer, too, alas ! was doom'd 



To quit the rich and smiling plain: 

 For while in fruitfulness sne bloom'd, 



Autumn began her glorious reign. 

 But Autumn's sun soon ceased to burn, 



And clouds which roll'd across the sky, 

 Declared that winter and his urn, 



In viewless icy car was nigh. 



When Winter came, the gorgeous sun 

 Turn'd pale, and seem'd to wait his doom, 



And all that late so radiant shone, 

 Now sunk in Winter's joyless tomb. 



Thus blooming is life's early spring, 

 For Nature on each path hath shed 



Her smiles, and Pleasure seeks to fling 

 Her garlands round each youthful head. 



My spring has fled, and summer now 



Rich o'er my youthful cheek doth breathe, 



And soon to deck this gladsome brow, 

 Autumn her holiest sweets will wreathe. 



Yet ere dim winter's gloomy birth, 

 Or age destroy this cheek of bloom, 



Oh ! I may press my mother earth, 

 And quit this vain world for the tomb. 



Then let me, Lord, at whose command, 

 Summer, and spring, and winter roll, 



Praise, while I've life, th' Almighty hand 

 That spans the world from pole to pole. 





