Anacreontic. on the Spring

As o'er the varied meads I stray, Or trace thro' winding woods my way, While opening flowers their sweets exhale, And odours breathe in every gale; Or, stretch'd beneath the beechen shade, Descry from far the sunny glade; Where sage Contentment builds her seat, And Peace attends the calm retreat; My soul responsive hails the scene, Attun'd to joy and peace within: But musing on the liberal hand That scatters blessings o'er the land; That gives for man, with power divine, The earth to teem, the sun to shine; My grateful mind with rapture burns, And pleasure to devotion turns.