HEN, with his lively ray, the potent sun Around the stone, or from the hollowed bank finny race, Then, issuing cheerful, to thy sport repair. Chief should the western breezes curling play, And light o'er ether bear the shadowy clouds. High to their fount, this day, amid the hills And woodlands warbling round, trace up the brooks; The next, pursue their rocky-channeled maze, Down to the river, in whose ample wave Their little naiads love to sport at large. Just in the dubious point, where with the pool Is mixed the trembling stream, or where it boils Arverted platone, un from the bo There throw, nice-judging, the delusive fly; If yet too young, and easily deceived, A worthless prey scarce bends your pliant rod, Him, piteous of his youth, and the short space Behoves you then to ply your finest art. That feels him still, yet to his furious course Long time he, following cautious, scans the fly; Gives way, you, now retiring, following now Across the stream, exhaust his idle rage; SONG. JAMES THOMSON. Nymphs that dwell within these groves, Crown your golden hair with roses; As you pass, Foot like fairies on the grass. JAMES SHIRLEY. MAY (From "The Faery Queen.") HEN came faire May, the fairest maid on ground, Deck'd all with dainties of her season's And throwing flowers out of her lap around; Supported her like to their sovereign queene. they spied, And leap'd and danced as they had ravisht And Cupid's self about her flutter'd all in Month of little hands with daisies, Like an actual color, bright If the rains that do us wrong And, groping blindly above it for light, Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers; The flush of life may well be seen Thrilling back over hills and valleys; The cowslip startles in valleys green, The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean To be some happy creature's palace; The little bird sits at his door in the sun, Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, And lets his illumined being o'errun With the deluge of summer it receives; His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, And the heart in her dumb breast flutters |