Роберт Андерсон (Robert Anderson)

Summer

Now the gay smiles of Summer enliven each scene,
And light is the breeze of the morn;
Hills and meadows are cloth'd in their livery of green,
And the blossoms the hedge--rows adorn:
Panting herds seek the stream, and the flocks court the vale,
While songsters enliven each spray;
And the laugh of the rustic is borne on each gale.
As with labour he cheats the long day.

In this season, 'tis sweet, now when all is in bloom,
The town and its follies to leave;
And enjoy the pure breeze, orrich meadow's perfume,
Where nature ne'er smiles to deceive:
When at eve, tir'd with labour, the bee seeks his cell,
A type of industry to man;
And as Sol's parting beams tinge the mountain and dell,
Fondly mark the Creator's great plan.

While around as enraptur'd with ardour we gaze,
Delighted each prospect to view,
Let us think how soon manhood like Summer decays,
But no mortal the past can renew:
Then howe'er on life's journey its troubles we share,
Let no pleasures the bosom beguile,
Since 'tis wise to look forward, and daily prepare
To give welcome to death, with a smile. 

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