Classic Poem

Now Spring's (chearful season) return'd,
Be joyous ye sons of the spray;
Why longer should nature be mourn'd?
Come PHILLIS and listen my lay.

O come my delight and my love,
Thy shepherd no artfulness knows;
The wreath that you yesterday wove,
To-day shall be fix'd on my brows.

And FLORA shall lend me her stores,
For FLORA must shortly be here;
To crown thee my fair one, with flow'rs,
Such crowns, even goddess's wear.

See, see how the primroses grow,
What violets the hedges adorn;
Already the sloe-bushes blow,
Diffusing their sweets to the morn.

Bright PHEBUS in golden array,
Revisits our borders again;
Ye villager — virgins be gay,
Be jovial each jocular swain.