Hark, the sweet Nightingale! how soft she hails
The blooming season, and its balmy gales!
Wild floats her song amid expanding bowers,
And the young almond sheds the silver flowers.
Then let us all be happy while we may,
For soon the inspiring spring shall pass away!
A thousand florets deck each hill and grove,
And the rose flaunts in pleasure’s gay alcove.
Ah! ere pale Winter, paler fate may breathe
The deadly gale, that blasts our vital wreath!
Hope not, while youth and health their treasures bring,
Life’s rapid hours will pause upon their wing!
The light of Beauty glitters round the bowers,
For lovely as my Ahmed, shine the flowers;
Each varied tulip emulates my fair,
Her glowing cheek, dark eye, and golden hair.
Soon, like their hues, her beauties must decay;
We live to love, in youth’s resplendent day!
Again the dews, from leaves of lilies, glance,
Bright as the watry polish of the lance.
Their moisture soft the clust’ring roses share,
It falls, from floating clouds, through balmy air.
Hear me! O hear me, if ye mean to prove
In youth’s short hours, the joys of Spring, and Love!
Gay are the flowers, as Persia’s nymphs appear
When the pearl trembles in the fair-one’s ear.
They, like the form they emulate, array’d,
Shine but to wane, and blossom but to fade.
Too fair to last, expect their swift decay,
And taste the transient sweetness while you may!
Their beauteous orbs anemonies disclose,
Gay tulips flourish, and the splendid rose.
Like spears, at times, the sun-beams pierce the rains,
Tinging the weltering bank with sanguine stains.
This day, while fast those vernal showers descend,
Allot to Wisdom, Fancy, and thy friend!
Past is the time, the wintry days are fled
When the dim rose-bud hung its shrivell’d head;
The time is come when rocks are crown’d with flowers,
And the wild mountains vie with cultur’d bowers.
Glad let us be since e’en rude rocks are gay,
And wear the gaudy wreaths of Love and May.
Now her moist gems the early morning throws
In the fresh bosom of the opening rose.
Shall avarice draw thee from our blooming vales
Whose musky perfumes linger on the gales?
What groveling cares do heaps of gold create!
Let love and beauty rule our softer fate!
Thy garden sweets as high the light winds drew,
They chang’d to rose-water the falling dew.
The gilded clouds a rich pavilion form,
Without the sable spot, that threats the storm;
Then shall our temples one dim shade display?
Ye sunny smiles, adorn them while ye may!
Late round the bowers the winds of Autumn mourn’d,
But soon, and bright, the solar Lord return’d.
Of him the cup-bearer desir’d the vine,
And flows, from purple orbs, the rosy wine!
Free bleed the grapes, and freely flows my song,
That gaily tells what joys to youth belong!
O! live my song, that future years may hail
These charming maids, and this enchanting vale!
The charming maids have listen’d to my lays,
And sure the verse will live, they deign to praise!
Since though it tells how short the vernal day,
It bids us live to pleasure while we may.