Bring Health that loves in early dawn To meet the milk-maid on the lawn; Bring Pleasure, rural nymph, and Peace, Meek, cottage-loving shepherdess! And that sweet stripling, Zephyr, bring, Light, and for ever on the wing. Bring the dear Muse, that loves to lean On river-margins, mossy green. But who is she, that bears thy train, Pacing light the velvet plain? The pale pink binds her auburn hair, Her tresses flow with pastoral air; 'Tis May the Grace----confest she stands By branch of hawthorn in her hands: Lo! near her trip the lightsome Dews, Their wings all ting'd in iris-hues; With whom the pow'rs of Flora play, And paint with pansies all the way. Oft when thy season, sweetest Queen, Has drest the groves in liv'ry green; When in each fair and fertile field Beauty begins her bow'r to build; While Evening, veil'd in shadows brown, Puts her matron-mantle on, And mists in spreading steams convey More fresh the fumes of new-shorn hay; Then, Goddess, guide my pilgrim feet Contemplation hoar to meet, As slow he winds in museful mood, Near the rush'd marge of CHERWELL'S flood; Or o'er old AVON'S magic edge, Whence Shakespeare cull'd the spiky sedge, All playful yet, in years unripe, To frame a shrill and simple pipe. There thro' the dusk but dimly seen, Sweet ev'ning objects intervene: His wattled cotes the shepherd plants, Beneath her elm the milk-maid chants. The woodman, speeding home, awhile Rests him at a shady stile. Nor wants there fragrance to dispense Refreshment o'er my soothed sense; Nor tangled woodbines balmy bloom, Nor grass besprent, to breathe perfume: Nor lurking wild-thyme's spicy sweet To bathe in dew my roving feet: Nor wants there note of Philomel, Nor sound of distant-tinkling bell: Nor lowings faint of herds remote, Nor mastiff's bark from bosom'd cott: Rustle the breezes lightly borne Of deep-embattel'd ears of corn: Round ancient elm, with humming noise, Full loud the chaffer-swarms rejoice. Meantime, a thousand dies invest The ruby chambers of the West! That all aslant the village tow'r A mild reflected radiance pour, While, with the level-streaming rays Far seen its arched windows blaze: And the tall grove's green top is dight In russet tints, and gleams of light; So that the gay scene by degrees Bathes my blythe heart in extasies; And Fancy to my ravish'd sight Pourtrays her kindred visions bright. At length the parting-light subdues My soften'd soul to calmer views, And fainter shapes of pensive joy, As twilight dawns, my mind employ, Till from the path I fondly stray In musings lapt, nor heed the way; Wandering thro' the landscape still, Till Melancholy has her fill; And on each moss-wove border damp,