WRITTEN IN THE GROUNDS OF MARTIN COLE, ESQ .

When is the aspect which nature wears
The loveliest and dearest? Say is it in Spring,
When its blossoms the apple-tree beauteously bears,
And birds on each spray are beginning to sing?
Or is it in Summer's fervid pride,
When the foliage is shady on every side,
And tempts us at noon in the green-wood to hide,
And list to the wild birds warbling? —

Lovely is nature in seasons like these
But lovelier when Autumn's tints are spread
On the landscape round, and the wind-swept trees
Their leafy honours reluctantly shed:
When the bright sun sheds a watery beam
On the changing leaves and the glistening stream;
Like smiles on a sorrowing cheek, that gleam
When its woes and cares for a moment are fled.

And such is the prospect which now is greeting
My glance, as I tread this favourite walk;
As the frolicsome sunbeams are over it fleeting,
And each flower nods on its rustling stalk;
And the bosom of Deben is darkening and lightening,
When gales the crests of its billows are whitening,
Or bursts of sunshine its billows are brightening,
While the winds keep up their stormy talk.

Of the brightness and beauty of Summer and Spring
There is little left but the roses that blow
By this friendly wall. To its covert they cling,
And eagerly smile in each sunbeam's glow;
But when the warm beam is a moment withdrawn,
And the loud whistling breeze sweeps over the lawn,
Their beauteous blossoms, so fair and forlorn,
Seem to shrink from the wind which ruffles them so.

Poor wind-tost tremblers! some weeks gone by
You were fann'd by breezes gentler than these;
When you stretch'd your leaves to a summer sky,
And open'd your buds to the hum of bees:
But soon will the Winter be past, and you,
When his winds are gone to the north, shall renew
Your graceful apparel of glossy hue,
And wave your blossoms in Summer's breeze.

The autumnal blasts, which whirl while we listen;
The wan, sear leaf, like a floating toy;
The bright round drops of dew, which glisten
On the grass at morn; and the sunshine coy,
Which comes and goes like a smile when woo'd;
The auburn meads, and the foamy flood,
Each sight and sound, in a musing mood,
Awaken sensations superior to joy.