Thomson and Pollok: containing The seasons, by James Thomson, and The course of time, by Robert Pollok, A. M.

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SPRING. 31
Lifts her pale lustre on the paler wretch,
Exanimate by love; and then perhaps
Exhausted Nature sinks awhile to rest, 1050
Still interrupted by distracted dreams,
That o'er the sick imagination rise,
And in black colours paint the mimic scene.
Oft with the' enchantress of his soul he talks;
Sometimes in crowds distress'd; or if retired 1055
To secret winding flower-enwoven bowers,
Far from the dull impertinence of Mar,
Just as he, credulous, his endless cares
Begins to loose in bind oblivious love,
Snatch d from her yielded hand, he knows not how,
Through forests huge, and long untravel'd heaths 1061
With desolation brown, he wanders waste,
In night and tempest wrapp'd: or shrinks aghast,
Back, from the bending precipice; or wades
The turbid stream below, and strives to reach 1065
The further shore; where succourless and sad,
She with extended arms his aid implores;
But strives in vain; borne by the' outrageous flood
To distance down, he rides the ridgy wave,
Or whelm'd beneath the boiling eddy sinks. 1070
These are the charming agonies of love,
Whose misery delights. But through the heart
Should jealousy its venom once diffuse,
Tis then delightful misery no more,
But agony unmix'd, incessant gall, 1075
Corroding every thought, and blasting all
Love's paradise. Ye fairy prospects, then,
Ye beds of roses, and ye bowers of joy,
Farewell! ye gleamings of departed peace,
Shine out your last' the yellow-tinging plague 080
Internal vision taints, and in a night
Of livid gloom imagination wraps.
An,-then! instead oflove-enliven'd cheeks,
Of sunny features, and of ardent eyes
WLith lowing rapture bright, dark looks succeed, 1085