The Posthumous Works of Ann Eliza Bleecker/To the same (3)

Dear brother, to these happy shades repair, And leave, Oh leave the city's noxious air: I'll try description, friend---methinks I see 'Twill influence your curiosity.

Before our door a meadow flies the eye, Circled by hills, whose summits croud the sky; The silver lily there exalts her head, And op'ning roses balmy odours spread, While golden tulips flame beneath the shade. In short, not Iris with her painted bow, Nor varied tints an evening fun can show, Can the gay colours of the flow'rs exceed, Whose glowing leaves diversify this mead: And when the blooms of Flora disappear, The weighty fruits adorn the satiate year: Here vivid cherries bloom in scarlet pride, And purple plums blush by the cherries side; The sable berries bend the pliant vines, And smiling apples glow in crimson rinds; Ceres well pleas'd, beholds the furrow'd plain, And show'rs her blessings on th' industrious swain; Plenty sits laughing in each humble cot; None wish for that which heaven gives them not, But sweet Contentment still with sober charms, Encircles us within her blissful arms; Birds unmolested chaunt their early notes, And on the dewy spray expand their throats; Before the eastern skies are streak'd with light, Or from the arch of Heaven retreats the night, The musical inhabitants of air, To praise their Maker, tuneful lays prepare. Here by a spring, whose glassy surface moves At ev'ry kiss from Zephyr of the groves, While passing clouds look brighter in the stream, Your poet sits and paints the rural scene.