ODE ON THE SPRING.

And float amid the liquid noon :
Some lightly o'er the current skim,
Some shew their gaily-gilded trim
Quick-glancing to the fun.

To Contemplation's sober eye
Such is the race of man :
And they that creep, and they that fly,
Shall end where they began.
Alike the busy and the gay
But flutter thro' life's little day,
In Fortune's varying colours dreft :
Brush'd by the hand of rough Mischance,
Or chill'd by Age, their airy dance
They leave in duft to reft.

Methinks I hear, in accents low,
The sportive kind reply;
Poor Moralift ! and what art thou ?
A solitary fly !

D 2

Thy

46

ODE ON THE SPRING.

+ Thy joys no glitt'ring female meets,
No hive haft thou of hoarded sweets,
No painted plumage to display:
On hafty wings thy youth is flown;
Thy fun is fet, thy fpring is gone—
We frolic while 'tis May.

ODE