146 
O’er hills and vales my laughing flowers 
Shall lift their lovely faces; 
My singing birds, and blooming bowers, 
Shall still retain their places; 
My butterflies and humming bees 
Shall tease and thwart him ever; 
I’ll crowd fresh leaflets on my trees, 
And let him rest — oh, never!’ 
AUTUMN. 
4 It will not, Love! it will not do; 
Not e’en thy smiles and blushes, 
A respite from his rage may woo, 
Which like his own wind rushes! 
Then fly with me! oh, fly with me, 
Far from his wrath and rudeness, 
To seek some brighter clime, and be 
Again all joy and goodness!’ 
SUMMER. 
4 And leave the scenes I love so well 1 
And all I’ve nourished here ? 
