Hymn on the Approach of May

Queen of the laughing flower! whose lovely waist Fair Spring entwines with her brocaded zone, Array'd most gorgeous in thy rainbow vest, With joy descend from thy celestial throne.

Bright, on the skirt of yon cerulean cloud, In splendid majesty I see her sail, With lavish hand she fills the lap of earth, And with her breath perfumes the fanning gale.

Now Flora puts her greenest mantle on, And Phoebus darts a more enlightning beam, Rearing his stately neck, the silver swan Floats lighter on the warm redundant stream.

The stream-redundant, fed by gushing springs, Curls to the pressure of the tepid breeze: Feeling the force of renovated life, Nod the green summits of the neighbouring trees.

Sits on its thorn the crimson-blushing rose And smiles, oh May! to meet thy brilliant eye; Rude grows the lilly, and unfolds its breast, White as the fleece, that decks the vernal sky.

The swallow twitters on the chimney top; The merry martin builds her plaited nest; And, clos'd within the covert of the hedge, The loud thrush swells his many-spotted breast.

Perch'd on yon slender pile of bavin-wood, Too proud to mingle with the fowl below, Expands the peacock his eye-glittering tail, Still brighter, as he waves it to and fro.

In this soft season Cupid strings his bow, And aims his fatal arrows at the heart: Stung to the quick, the virgin feels the wound, Yet nourishes the new, the pleasing smart.

In yonder mead the lusty rustic aids The bonny milkmaid with her cleanly pail, And ever and anon he charms her air With "lovely Bett," or "Nanny of the Vale."

In nature's artless language he reveals, True to the blushing maid, his genuine flame: A lovelier hue adorns her comely face: How far more different is the blush of shame!

The nymph, approving of his love sincere, Consents the nuptial union shall be tied: The rites perform'd, what extasies ensue! He the gay bridegroom, she the happy bride.

Peace, guardian Peace, sits smiling at their door, Where-e'er they walk, Contentment marks the way: Constant Good-humour cloaths their honest minds, And every morning of their life is May.