Page:Poems (Barbauld).djvu/110

100 Sweet is thy reign, but hort; The red dog-tar Shall corch thy trees, and the mower's cythe Thy greens, thy flow'rets all, Remoreles hall detroy.

Reluctant hall I bid thee then farewel; For O, not all that Autumn's lap contains, Nor Summer's ruddiet fruits, Can aught for thee atone

Fair Spring! whoe implet promie more delights Than all their larget wealth, and thro' the heart Each joy and new-born hope With oftet influence breathes. VERSES