A
SONG
.
ADDRESSED
TO
MISS
C—AM
OF
BRISTOL
.
AS
Spring
,
now
approaches
with
all
his
gay
train
,
And
scatters
his
beauties
around
the
green
plain
,
Come
then
,
my
dear
charmer
,
all
scruples
remove
,
Accept
of
my
passion
,
allow
me
to
love
.
Without
the
soft
transports
which
love
must
inspire
,
Without
the
sweet
torment
of
fear
and
desire
,
Our
thoughts
and
ideas
,
are
never
refin'd
,
And
nothing
but
winter
can
reign
in
the
mind
.
But
love
is
the
blossom
,
the
spring
of
the
soul
,
The
frosts
of
our
judgments
may
check
,
not
controul
,
In
spite
of
each
hindrance
,
the
spring
will
return
,
And
nature
with
transports
refining
will
burn
.
This
passion
celestial
,
by
Heav'n
was
design'd
,
The
only
fix'd
means
of
improving
the
mind
,
When
it
beams
on
the
senses
,
they
quickly
display
,
How
great
and
prolific
,
how
pleasing
the
ray
.
Then
come
,
my
dear
charmer
,
since
love
is
a
flame
,
Which
polishes
nature
,
and
angels
your
frame
,
Permit
the
soft
passion
to
rise
in
your
breast
,
I
leave
your
good
nature
to
grant
me
the
rest
.
Shall
the
beautiful
flow'rets
all
blossom
around
,
Shall
Flora's
gay
mantle
,
enamel
the
ground
,
Shall
the
red
blushing
blossom
be
seen
on
the
tree
,
Without
the
least
pleasure
or
rapture
for
me
?
And
yet
,
if
my
charmer
should
frown
when
I
sing
,
Ah
!
what
are
the
beauties
,
the
glories
of
spring
!
The
flowers
will
be
faded
,
all
happiness
fly
,
And
clouds
veil
the
azure
of
every
bright
sky
.
London
,
May
4
,
1770
.
C.