XI.

Alas! can we rehearse

Each varied flower in verse

Which marks the season's course, with beauty

stored?

We lack an angel's tongue;

For that, and that alone

Could justice do, and worthy song record;

Their scented breath, pictorial dress,

We angels leave to chaunt, and sing their loveliness.

XII.

Alert to visit these,

Behold th' industrious bees

Now prosecute their work of summer life;

The busy lover sings,

As spread his airy wings,

The flower esteems his wedded, lawful wife;

Faithless, and with honey stored,

He humming flies away t' enrich his stolen hoard.

XIII.

Now up and down they fly,

In concert merrily,

The gnat, and insects bred of motley tribe,

The golden ray to enjoy ;

No cares for them to cloy

Their one day's reign curtailed; whate'er betide,

They sing and hail the summer day,

Till evening clouds the sky, and shadows hold their

sway.

XIV.

Prompt from the village green,

In rustic garb are seen

Men, women, boys, ycleped of station low,

With fork and serrate rake

The russet hay to shake;

The while meridian toil on workmen's brow

Its witness stamps, of labour done

Beneath the darting ray of scorching Summer's sun.

XV.

Say, what more lovely scene

Than meadows fresh and green,

Or lively more than when the jovial crew,