The Timely Adviser

Adieu, ye groves, adieu ye plains! All nature mourning lies; See gloomy clouds, and thick'ning rains, Obscure the lab'ring skies: See from afar th' impending storm, With sullen haste appears; See winter comes, a dreary form, To rule the falling years.

No more ye lambs with gamesom bound, Rejoice the gladden'd light; No more the gay enamel'd ground, Of Sylvan scenes delight: Thus, Zephalinda, much lov'd maid, Thy early charms shall fail; The rose must droop, the lilly fade, And winter soon prevail.

Again the lark, sweet bird of May, May rise on active wing: Again the sportive herds may play, And hail reviving spring. But youth, my fair, sees no return; The pleasing bubble o'er, In vain its fleeting joys you mourn, They fall to bloom no more.

Haste then, dear girl, the time improve, Which art can ne'er regain, In blissful scenes of mutual love, With some distinguish'd swain; So shall life's spring, like jocund May, Pass smiling and serene; Tho' Summer, Autumn glide away, And Winter close the scene.