Alexandria Daily Gazette, Commercial & Political

SONNET TO SPRING.

With joy we hail the opening flowers,
Thy purple meads and roseate bowers,
Delighted trace the gurgling rill,
Or linger on the grass-clad hill.

The tufted glade in vivid hue,
Sprinkled with drops of pearly dew,
Invites the early straying feet,
To bathe in liquid odours sweet.

The woods resound the cheerful lay,
Of native music from each spray;
There undisturb'd the woodlark sings,
And builds her nest and plumes her wings.

Deck'd by thy smiles the garden blooms
And loads the gale with rich perfumes--
Where'er we turn, thy charms appear,
The pride and glory of the year.

Ah! Lovely queen, how short thy reign,
Thy gorgeous robes how frail and vain---
Soon all thy pleasures pass away,
And yield to dust each bright display.

The idle wanderer sighs to find,
Thy beauties fleeting as the wind,
Then mourns beneath a burning sun,
Thy chaplets dead, thy odours gone--

The frugal, wise, industrious swain,
That turns the glebe and sows his grain,
By thee more lasting good obtains,
A harvest rich for early pains.

The Youth that spends his golden days,
In pleasure's devious flowery maze,
Shall find they lead to sorrow's gate,
And mourn his folly when too late.

While they who knock at wisdom's door,
Early devoted to her lore,
Will reap the sweet reward of peace,
When pleasures fail and time shall cease.

CHRISTINA.