Sons of Nature, hither haste, The blessings of existence taste; Listen to my friendly lay, And your cares shall fly away, Quick as fly the wintry snows When the vernal Zephyr blows. Let others, courting war's alarms, Seek the bloody field of arms; Let others, with undaunted soul, Bid Bellona's thunders roll; From the lightnings of their eye Let the trembling squadrons fly; Sons of Nature, you shall prove A softer fight, the fight of love. While you in soft repose are laid Underneath the myrtle shade, Amid the murky glooms of Death, The sons of battle pant for breath. Let the philosophic sage, His silver tresses white with age, Amid the chilling midnight damp, Waste the solitary lamp, To scan the laws of Nature o'er, The paths of Science to explore; Curb'd beneath his harsh controul The blissful Passions fly the soul. You, the gentler sons of joy, Softer studies shall employ! He to curb the Passions tries, You shall bid them all arise; His wants he wishes to destroy, You shall all your wants enjoy. Let the laurel, Virtue's meed, Crown his age-besilver'd head, The verdant laurel ever grows Amid the sullen Winter's snows: Let the rose, the flower of bliss, The soft unwrinkled temples kiss; Fann'd by the Zephyr's balmy wing, The odorous rose adorns the Spring. Let the Patriot die, to raise A lasting monument of praise. Ah, fool, to tear the glowing rose From the mirth-encircled brows, That around his dusky tomb The ever-verdant bay may bloom! Let Ambition's sons alone Bow around the tottering throne, Fly at Glory's splendid rays, And, moth-like, die amidst a blaze; You shall bow, and bow alone, Before delicious Beauty's throne. Lo! Theora treads the green, All breathing grace and harmony she moves, Fair as the mother of the Loves. In graceful ringlets floats her golden hair; From the bright azure of her eye Expression's liquid lightnings fly. Her cheek is fair, Fair as the lily, when, at dawning day, Tinged with the morning's bright and purple ray, Yonder scented groves among She will listen to your song. In yonder bower where roses bloom, Where the myrtle breathes perfume, You shall at your ease recline, And sip the soul-enlivening wine; There the lyre, with melting lay, Shall bid the soul dissolve away. Soft as the Morning sheds her purple light Through the dark azure of the Night, So soft the God of slumber sheds His roseate dews around your heads.