Soon as the daisy decks the green
Thy certain voice we hear;
Hast thou a star to guide thy path,
Or mark the rolling year?
Delightful visitant! with thee
I hail the time of flowers,
When heaven is filled with music swee
Of birds among the bowers.
The schoolboy wandering in the wood
To pull the flowers so gay,
Starts-thy curious voice to hear,
And imitates thy lay.
Soon as the pea puts on the bloom,
Thou fly'st the vocal vale,
An annual guest in other lands,
Another spring to hail.
Sweet bird, thy bower is ever green,
Thy sky is ever clear;
Thou hast no sorrow in thy sɔng,
No winter in thy year!
The Grasshopper.
O! could I fly, I'd fly with thee;
We'd make, with social wing,
Our annual visit o'er the globe,
Companions of the spring.
HAPPY insect! what can be
In happiness compared to thee?
Fed with nourishment divine,
The dewy mornings gentle wine.
Nature waits upon thee still,
And thy verdant cup does fill.
Thou dost drink and dance and sing,
Happier than the happiest king!
All the fields which thou dost see.
All the plants belong to thee,
All that summer hours produce,
Fertile made with early juice,
Man for thee does sow and plow;
Farmer he, and landlord thou!
Thou dost innocently enjoy,
Nor does thy luxury destroy :
Thee country hinds with gladness hear,
Prophet of the ripened year!
To thee, of all things upon earth,
Life is no longer than thy mirth.
Happy insect! happy thou
Dost neither age nor winter know;
But when thou'st drunk, and danced and sung Thy fill, the flowery leaves among,
Sated with thy summer feast
Thou retir'st to endless rest.
How cheerful along the gay mead
The daisy and cowslip appear!
The flocks, as they carelessly feed,
Rejoice in the spring of the year.
The myrtles that deck the gay bowers,
The herbage that springs from the sod,
Trees, plants, cooling fruits, and sweet flowers,
All rise to the praise of my God.
Shall man, the great master of all,
The only insensible prove?
Forbid it, fair gratitude's call!
Forbid it, devotion and love!
The Lord who such wonders could raise,
And still can destroy with a nod,
My lips shall incessantly praise;
My soul shall be wrapt in my God!
Busy, curious, thirsty fly,
Drink with me, and drink as I!
Freely welcome to my cup,
Couldst thou sip, and sip it up.
Make the most of life you may,
Life is short, and wears away.
Both alike are mine and thine,
Hast'ning quick to their decline:
Thine's a summer, mine's no more
Though repeated to threescore ;
Threescore summers, when they're gone,
Will appear as short as one.
O SAY, what is that thing call'd light,
Which I must ne'er enjoy?
What are the blessings of the sight?
O tell your poor blind boy!
You talk of wondrous things you see;
You say the sun shines bright:
I feel him warm, but how can he
Or make it day or night?
My day or night myself I make
When'er I sleep or play;
And could I always keep awake
With me 'twere always day.
With heavy sighs I often hear
You mourn my hapless woe;
But sure with patience I can bear
A loss I ne'er can know.
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