August. an Ode

The garden blooms with vegetable gold, And all Pomona in the orchard glows, Her racy fruits now glory in the sun, The wall-enamour'd flower in saffron blows, Gay annuals their spicy sweets unfold; To cooling brooks the panting cattle run: Hope, the fore-runner of the farmer's gain, Visits his dreams, and multiplies the grain.

More hot it grows, ye fervors of the sky Attend the Virgin—lo! she comes to hail Your sultry radiance—Now the God of day Meets her chaste star—be present Zephyr's gale To fan her bosom—let the breezes fly On silver pinions to salute his ray; Bride of his soft desires, with comely grace He clasps the virgin to his warm embrace.

The reapers now their shining sickles bear, A band illustrious, and the sons of Health! They bend, they toil across the wide champaign, Before them Ceres yields her flowing wealth; The partridge-covey to the copse repair For shelter, sated with the golden grain, Bask on the bank, or thro' the clover run, Yet safe from setters, and the slaughtering gun.

Courtly Augustus, whom the bards rever'd, Patron of science, and the genial arts, Nam'd this fair Month, which permanent shall live Long as his bright idea in our hearts, And lasting as the monument he rear'd! Like him, ye princes, would ye long survive Thro' time's successive aeras, thus bestow, Like him, those bounties, whence your honours flow.

Myra and I, together in the shade, Where yonder jasmine forms a proud alcove, Will taste the cooling sherbet, or regale On juicy melons—Will my rosy love Or there retire?—or walk this green parade, And talk of nuptials in the chesnut vale? Nuptials our hearts, which shall for ever bind, While the swain's constant, and the damsel kind.