Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/79

 Distracted wanders; now the bowery walk Of covert close, where scarce a speck of day Falls on the lengthen'd gloom, protracted sweeps: Now meets the bending sky, the river now Dimpling along, the breezy-ruffled lake, The forest darkening round, the glittering spire, Th' etherial mountain, and the distant main. But why so far excursive? when at hand, Along the blushing borders, bright with dew, And in yon mingled wilderness of flowers, Fair-handed Spring unbosoms every grace; Throws out the snow-drop, and the crocus first; The daisy, primrose, violet darkly blue, And polyanthus of unnumber'd dyes; The yellow wall-flower, stain'd with iron brown; And lavish stock that scents the garden round. From the soft wing of vernal breezes shed, Anemonies; auriculas, enrich'd With shining meal o'er all their velvet leaves; And full ranunculas, of glowing red. Then comes the tulip-race, where Beauty plays Her idle freaks: from family diffus'd To family, as flies the father-dust, The varied colours run; and while they break On the charm'd eye, th' exulting florist marks, With secret pride, the wonders of his hand. No gradual bloom is wanting; from the bud, First-born of spring, to Summer's musky tribes: Nor hyacinths, of purest virgin white, Low-bent, and blushing inward; nor jonquils Of potent fragrance; nor Narcissus fair, As o'er the fabled fountain hanging still; Nor broad carnations; nor gay-spotted pinks; Nor, shower'd from every bush, the damask-rose. Rh