No longer hoary winter reigns,
No longer binds the streams in chains,
Or heaps with snow the meads;
Array'd with robe of rainbow-dye,
At last the spring appears on high,
And, smiling over earth and sky,
Her new creation leads.

The snows confess a warmer ray,
The loosen'd streamlet loves to stray,
And echo down the dale;
The hills uplift their summits green,
The vales more verdant spread between,
The cuckoo in the wood unseen
Coos ceaseless to the gale.

The rainbow arching woos the eye,
With all the colours of the sky
With all the pride of spring;
Now heaven descends in sunny showers,
The sudden fields put on the flowers,
The green leaves wave upon the bowers,
And birds begin to sing.

The cattle wander in the wood,
And find the wanton verdant food,
Beside the well-known rills;
Blithe in the sun the shepherd swain,
Like Pan attunes the pastoral strain,
While many echoes send again
The music of the hills.

At eve, the primrose path along,
The milkmaid shortens with a song
Her solitary way;
She sees the fairies, with their queen,
Trip hand in hand the circled green,
And hears them raise at times, unseen,
The ear-enchanting lay.

Maria, come! Now let us rove,
Now gather garlands in the grove,
Of every new-sprung flower;
We'll hear the warblings of the wood,
We'll trace the windings of the flood;
O Come, thou fairer than the bud
Unfolding in a shower!

Fair as the lily of the vale,
That gives its bosom to the gale
And opens in the sun;
And sweeter than thy favourite dove,
The Venus of the vernal grove,
Announcing to the choirs of love
Their time of bliss begun.

Now, now thy spring of life appears,
Fair in the morning of thy years,
And May of beauty crown'd:
Now vernal visions meet thine eyes,
Poetic dreams to fancy rise,
And better days in better skies -
Elysium blooms around.

Now, now's the morning of the day;
But, ah! the morning flies away,
And youth is on the wing;
'Tis nature's voice, 'O pull the rose,
Now while the bud in beauty blows,
Now while the opening leaves disclose
The incense of the spring!'

What youth, high favour'd of the skies,
What youth shall win the brightest prize
That nature has in store?
Whose conscious eyes shall meet with thine;
Whose arms thy yielding waist entwine;
Who, ravish'd with thy charms divine,
Requires of Heaven no more!

Not happier the primeval pair,
When new-made earth, supremely fair,
Smiled on her virgin spring;
When all was fair to God's own eye,
When stars consenting sung on high,
And all heaven's chorus made the sky
With Hallelujahs ring.

Devoted to the muses' choir,
I tune the Caledonian lyre
To themes of high renown: -
No other theme than you I'll choose,
Than you invoke no other muse:
Nor will that gentle hand refuse
Thy bard with bays to crown.

Where hills by storied streams ascend,
My dreams and waking wishes tend
Poetic ease to woo;
Where fairy fingers curl the grove,
Where Grecian spirits round me rove,
Alone enamour'd with the love
Of nature and of you.