Page:The works of Anna Laetitia Barbauld volume 1.djvu/243



the softer hours, Spring's opening blush And Summer's deeper glow, the shepherd's pipe Tuned to the murmurs of a weeping spring, And song of birds, and gay enameled fields,— Farewell! 'T is now the sickness of the year, Not to be medicined by the skillful hand. Pale suns arise that like weak kings behold Their predecessor's empire moulder from them; While swift-increasing spreads the black domain Of melancholy Night;—no more content With equal sway, her stretching shadows gain On the bright morn, and cloud the evening sky. Farewell the careless lingering walk at eve,