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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=537567" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Elegy V. Anno Aet. 20. On The Approach Of Spring (Translated From Milton)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Time, never wand'ring from his annual round,<br>Bids Zephyr breathe the Spring, and thaw the ground;<br>Bleak Winter flies, new verdure clothes the plain,<br>And earth assumes her transient youth again.<br>Dream I, or also to the Spring belong<br>Increase of Genius, and new pow'rs of song?<br>Spring gives them, and, how strange soere it seem,<br>Impels me now to some harmonious theme.<br>Castalia's fountain and the forked hill<br>By day, by night, my raptur'd fancy fill,<br>My bosom burns and heaves, I hear within<br>A sacred sound that prompts me to begin,<br>Lo! Phoebus comes, with his bright hair he blends<br>The radiant laurel wreath; Phoebus descends;<br>I mount, and, undepress'd by cumb'rous clay,<br>Through cloudy regions win my easy way;<br>Rapt through poetic shadowy haunts I fly:<br>The shrines all open to my dauntless eye,<br>My spirit searches all the realms of light,<br>And no Tartarean gulphs elude my sight. <br>But this ecstatic trance--this glorious storm<br>Of inspiration--what will it perform?<br>Spring claims the verse that with his influence glows,<br>And shall be paid with what himself bestows.<br>Thou, veil'd with op'ning foliage, lead'st the throng<br>Of feather'd minstrels, Philomel! in song;<br>Let us, in concert, to the season sing,<br>Civic, and sylvan heralds of the spring!<br>With notes triumphant spring's approach declare!<br>To spring, ye Muses, annual tribute bear!<br>The Orient left and Aethiopia's plains<br>The Sun now northward turns his golden reins,<br>Night creeps not now, yet rules with gentle sway,<br>And drives her dusky horrors swift away;<br>Now less fatigued on his aetherial plain<br>Bootes follows his celestial wain;<br>And now the radiant centinels above<br>Less num'rous watch around the courts of Jove,<br>For, with the night, Force, Ambush, Slaughter fly,<br>And no gigantic guilt alarms the sky. <br>Now haply says some shepherd, while he views,<br>Recumbent on a rock, the redd'ning dews,<br>This night, this surely, Phoebus miss'd the fair,<br>Who stops his chariot by her am'rous care.<br>Cynthia, delighted by the morning's glow,<br>Speeds to the woodland, and resumes her bow;<br>Resigns her beams, and, glad to disappear,<br>Blesses his aid who shortens her career.<br>Come--Phoebus cries--Aurora come--too late<br>Thou linger'st slumb'ring with thy wither'd mate,<br>Leave Him, and to Hymettus' top repair,<br>Thy darling Cephalus expects thee there.<br>The goddess, with a blush, her love betrays,<br>But mounts, and driving rapidly obeys.<br>Earth now desires thee, Phoebus! and, t'engage<br>Thy warm embrace, casts off the guise of age.<br>Desires thee, and deserves; for who so sweet,<br>When her rich bosom courts thy genial heat?<br>Her breath imparts to ev'ry breeze that blows<br>Arabia's harvest and the Paphian rose. <br>Her lofty front she diadems around<br>With sacred pines, like Ops on Ida crown'd,<br>Her dewy locks with various flow'rs new-blown,<br>She interweaves, various, and all her own,<br>For Proserpine in such a wreath attired<br>Taenarian Dis himself with love inspired.<br>Fear not, lest, cold and coy, the Nymph refuse,<br>Herself, with all her sighing Zephyrs sues,<br>Each courts thee fanning soft his scented wing,<br>And all her groves with warbled wishes ring. <br>Nor, unendow'd and indigent, aspires<br>Th'am'rous Earth to engage thy warm desires,<br>But, rich in balmy drugs, assists thy claim<br>Divine Physician! to that glorious name.<br>If splendid recompense, if gifts can move<br>Desire in thee (gifts often purchase love),<br>She offers all the wealth, her mountains hide,<br>And all that rests beneath the boundless tide.<br>How oft, when headlong from the heav'nly steep<br>She sees thee plunging in the Western Deep <br>How oft she cries--Ah Phoebus! why repair<br>Thy wasted force, why seek refreshment there?<br>Can Tethys win thee? wherefore should'st thou lave<br>A face so fair in her unpleasant wave?<br>Come, seek my green retreats, and rather chuse<br>To cool thy tresses in my chrystal dews,<br>The grassy turf shall yield thee sweeter rest,<br>Come, lay thy evening glories on my breast,<br>And breathing fresh through many a humid rose,<br>Soft whisp'ring airs shall lull thee to repose.<br>No fears I feel like Semele to die,<br>Nor lest thy burning wheels approach too nigh,<br>For thou can'st govern them. Here therefore rest,<br>And lay thy evening glories on my breast.<br>Thus breathes the wanton Earth her am'rous flame,<br>And all her countless offspring feel the same;<br>For Cupid now through every region strays<br>Bright'ning his faded fires with solar rays,<br>His new-strung bow sends forth a deadlier sound,<br>And his new-pointed shafts more deeply wound, <br>Nor Dian's self escapes him now untried,<br>Nor even Vesta at her altar-side;<br>His mother too repairs her beauty's wane,<br>And seems sprung newly from the Deep again.<br>Exulting youths the Hymenaeal sing,<br>With Hymen's name roofs, rocks, and valleys ring;<br>He, new attired and by the season dress'd<br>Proceeds all fragrant in his saffron vest.<br>Now, many a golden-cinctur'd virgin roves<br>To taste the pleasures of the fields and groves,<br>All wish, and each alike, some fav'rite youth<br>Hers in the bonds of Hymenaeal truth.<br>Now pipes the shepherd through his reeds again,<br>Nor Phyllis wants a song that suits the strain,<br>With songs the seaman hails the starry sphere,<br>And dolphins rise from the abyss to hear,<br>Jove feels, himself, the season, sports again<br>With his fair spouse, and banquets all his train.<br>Now too the Satyrs in the dusk of Eve<br>Their mazy dance through flow'ry meadows weave,<br>And neither God nor goat, but both in kind,<br>Sylvanus, wreath'd with cypress, skips behind.<br>The Dryads leave the hollow sylvan cells<br>To roam the banks, and solitary dells;<br>Pan riots now; and from his amorous chafe<br>Ceres and Cybele seem hardly safe,<br>And Faunus, all on fire to reach the prize,<br>In chase of some enticing Oread flies;<br>She bounds before, but fears too swift a bound,<br>And hidden lies, but wishes to be found. <br>Our shades entice th'Immortals from above,<br>And some kind Pow'r presides oter ev'ry grove,<br>And long ye Pow'rs o'er ev'ry grove preside,<br>For all is safe and blest where ye abide!<br>Return O Jove! the age of gold restore--<br>Why chose to dwell where storms and thunders roar?<br>At least, thou, Phoebus! moderate thy speed,<br>Let not the vernal hours too swift proceed,<br>Command rough Winter back, nor yield the pole<br>Too soon to Night's encroaching, long control.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Cowper">William Cowper</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=537567" data-title="Elegy V. Anno Aet. 20. On The Approach Of Spring (Translated From Milton) de William Cowper" data-description="Time, never wand'ring from his annual round,
Bids Zephyr breathe the Spring, and thaw the ground;
Bleak Winter flies, new verdure clothes the plain,
And earth assumes her transient youth again.
Dream I, or also to the Spring belong
Increase of Gen..."></div>
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