ELEGY
.
WRITTEN
AT
THE
APPROACH
OF
SPRING
.
BY
JOHN
SCOTT
,
ESQ
.
STERN
Winter
hence
with
all
his
train
removes
;
And
chearful
skies
and
limpid
streams
are
seen
;
Thick-sprouting
foliage
decorates
the
groves
;
Reviving
herbage
robes
the
fields
in
green
.
Yet
lovelier
scenes
shall
crown
th'
advancing
year
;
When
blooming
Spring's
full
bounty
is
display'd
;
The
smile
of
beauty
every
vale
shall
wear
;
The
voice
of
song
enliven
every
shade
.
O
Fancy
,
paint
not
coming
days
too
fair
!
Oft
for
the
prospects
sprightly
May
should
yield
,
Rain-pouring
clouds
have
darken'd
all
the
air
,
Or
snows
untimely
whiten'd
o'er
the
field
:
But
should
kind
Spring
her
wonted
bounty
shower
,
The
smile
of
beauty
and
the
voice
of
song
;
If
gloomy
thought
the
human
mind
o'erpower
,
Ev'n
vernal
hours
glide
unenjoy'd
along
.
I
shun
the
scenes
where
maddening
Passion
raves
;
Where
Pride
and
Folly
high
dominion
hold
,
And
unrelenting
Avarice
drives
her
slaves
O'er
prostrate
Virtue
in
pursuit
of
gold
:
The
grassy
lane
,
the
wood-surrounded
field
,
The
rude
stone-fence
with
fragrant
wall-flowers
gay
,
The
clay-built
cot
,
to
me
more
pleasure
yield
Than
all
the
pomp
imperial
domes
display
;
And
yet
ev'n
here
amid
these
secret
shades
,
These
simple
scenes
of
unreprov'd
delight
,
Affliction's
iron
hand
my
breast
invades
,
And
Death's
dread
dart
is
ever
in
my
sight
.
While
genial
suns
to
genial
showers
succeed
;
(
The
air
all
mildness
,
and
the
earth
all
bloom
)
While
herds
and
flocks
range
sportive
o'er
the
mead
;
Crop
the
sweet
herb
,
and
snuff
the
rich
perfume
;
O
why
alone
to
hapless
man
deny'd
To
taste
the
bliss
inferior
beings
boast
!
O
why
this
fate
that
fear
and
pain
divide
His
few
short
hours
on
earth's
delightful
coast
!
Ah
cease
—
no
more
of
Providence
complain
!
'Tis
sense
of
guilt
that
wakes
the
mind
to
woe
,
Gives
force
to
fear
,
adds
energy
to
pain
,
And
palls
each
joy
by
heaven
indulg'd
below
:
Why
else
the
smiling
infant
train
so
blest
,
Ere
dear-bought
knowledge
ends
the
peace
within
,
Or
wild
desire
inflames
the
youthful
breast
,
Or
ill
propension
ripens
into
sin
?
As
to
the
bleating
tenants
of
the
field
,
As
to
the
sportive
warblers
on
the
trees
,
To
them
their
joys
sincere
the
seasons
yield
,
And
all
their
days
and
all
their
prospects
please
;
Such
joys
were
mine
when
from
the
peopled
streets
,
Where
on
Thamesis'
banks
I
liv'd
immur'd
,
The
new
blown
fields
that
breath'd
a
thousand
sweets
,
To
Surry's
wood-crown'd
hills
my
steps
allur'd
:
O
happy
hours
,
beyond
recovery
fled
!
What
share
I
now
"
that
can
your
loss
repay
,
"
While
o'er
my
mind
these
glooms
of
thought
are
spread
,
And
veil
the
light
of
life's
meridian
ray
?
Is
there
no
power
this
darkness
to
remove
?
The
long-lost
joys
of
Eden
to
restore
,
Or
raise
our
views
to
happier
seats
above
,
Where
Fear
,
and
Pain
,
and
Death
shall
be
no
more
?
Yes
,
those
there
are
who
know
a
Saviour's
love
The
long-lost
joys
of
Eden
can
restore
,
And
raise
their
views
to
happier
seats
above
,
Where
Fear
,
and
Pain
,
and
Death
shall
be
no
more
:
These
grateful
share
the
gift
of
Nature's
hand
;
And
in
the
varied
scenes
that
round
them
shine
;
(
The
Fair
,
the
Rich
,
the
Awful
,
and
the
Grand
)
Admire
th'
amazing
workmanship
divine
.
Blows
not
a
flow'ret
in
th'
enamel'd
vale
,
Shines
not
a
pebble
where
the
rivulet
strays
;
Sports
not
an
insect
on
the
spicy
gale
;
But
claims
their
wonder
and
excites
their
praise
.
For
them
ev'n
vernal
nature
looks
more
gay
,
For
them
more
lively
hues
the
fields
adorn
;
To
them
more
fair
the
fairest
smile
of
day
,
To
them
more
sweet
the
sweetest
breath
of
morn
.
They
feel
the
bliss
that
hope
and
faith
supply
;
They
pass
serene
th'
appointed
hours
that
bring
The
day
that
wafts
them
to
the
realms
on
high
;
The
day
that
centers
in
eternal
spring
.