A Vernal Ode, Sent to Dr. Herring, Late Archbishop of Canterbury, March XII, MDCCLIV

Bright God of day, whose genial power Revives the buried seed; That spreads with foliage every bower, With verdure every mead; Bid all thy vernal breezes fly, Diffusing mildness thro' the sky; Give the soft season to our drooping plains, Sprinkled with rosy dews, and salutary rains.

Enough has winter's hand severe Chastis'd this dreary coast, And chill'd the tender dawning year With desolating frost: Give but thy vital beams to play, These ice-wrought scenes will melt away; And, mix'd in sprightly dance, the blooming Hours Will wake the drowsy Spring, the Spring awake the flowers.

Let Health, gay daughter of the skies, On Zephyr's wings descend, And scatter pleasures, as she flies, Where Surry's downs extend: There Herring wooes her friendly power; There may she all her roses shower; To heal that shepherd all her balms employ, So will she sooth our fears, and give a nation joy.

The grateful seasons, circling fast, Reviving suns restore, But life's short spring is quickly past, And blooms, alas! no more; Then let us, ere by sure decays We reach the winter of our days, In virtue emulate the blest above, And, like the spring, display benevolence and love.