I.

Soft breathing o'er the velvet green,
Is felt the heart-reviving gale;
Gay Spring unfolds the blooming scene,
The budding grove and scented vale.

II.

The orchard's sweets, the garden's flowers,
The brook that babbles thro' the plain,
The bladed lawns and blossom'd bowers,
The wild notes of the feather'd train —

III.

In vain their matchless charms unite,
Poetic rapture to diffuse;
I view them with a calm delight,
But uninspir'd remains the muse.

IV.

Too dull I grow to sport in rhime,
No rapt'rous warmth elates my soul;
No more the muse's hill I climb,
Nor in bright fancy's chariot roll.

V.

The glories of the vernal year,
The lustre of the female form,
Could once awake the sprightly air,
And all my soul with transport warm.

VI.

But, now transform'd to hermit grave,
These radiant prospects languid seem,
I haunt no more the flow'ry cave,
Nor loll aside the plaintive stream.

VII.

Th' enchanting pow'r of verse no more
In sweet Elysium wraps my heart;
O'er heaps of musty prose I pore,
Forgetful of the Muse's art.

VIII.

What then can re-illume my breast,
And light the long neglected fire,
When Nature's landscape gaily drest,
Can scarce a glowing thought inspire?

IX.

When e'en C LARINDA 's winning charms,
But half excites the sprightly strain;
Tho' form'd to raise love's soft alarms,
And rank'd in beauty's lucid train.

X.

Yet though these flatt'ring themes no more.
Allure the moral bard to stray,
Still shall the Muse a theme explore,
Deserving of her choicest lay.

XI.

Good-nature shall new string the lyre,
Which marks C LARINDA for her own;
C LARINDA 's Beauty all admire,
I praise her for this charm alone.