Ah, hapless JUNE! circles yon lunar Sphere
Yet the dim Halo? whose cold powers ordain
Long o'er these vales shou'd sweep, in misty train,
The pale continuous showers, that sullying smear
Thy radiant lilies, towering on the plain;
Bend low, with rivel'd leaves of canker'd stain,
Thy drench'd and heavy rose.—Yet pledg'd and dear
Fair Hope still holds the promise of the Year;
Suspends her anchor on the silver horn
Of the next wexing Orb, tho', JUNE, thy Day,
Robb'd of its golden eve, and rosy morn,
And gloomy as the Winter's rigid sway,
Leads sunless, lingering, disappointing Hours
Thro' the song-silent glades and dropping bowers.