You are a poetess, my
dear; and I will give you a few lines, that I made myself on such an
occasion as this I am speaking of, the presence of a sweet companion, and
the fresh verdure, that, after a shower, succeeding a long drought,
shewed itself throughout all vegetable nature. And then, in a sweet and
easy accent, (with his dear arms about me as we walked,) he sung me the
following verses; of which he afterwards favoured me with a copy:
I.
All nature blooms when you appear;
The fields their richest liv'ries wear;
Oaks, elms, and pines, blest with your view,
Shoot out fresh greens, and bud anew.
The varying seasons you supply;
And, when you're gone, they fade and die.
II.
Sweet Philomel, in mournful strains,
To you appeals, to you complains.
The tow'ring lark, on rising wing,
Warbles to you, your praise does sing;
He cuts the yielding air, and flies
To heav'n, to type your future joys.
III.
The purple violet, damask rose,
Each, to delight your senses, blows.
The lilies ope', as you appear;
And all the beauties of the year
Diffuse their odours at your feet,
Who give to ev'ry flow'r its sweet.
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