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By John Frederick Bryant; not published, in imitation of Thompson's Season's. To breathe fresh air, to view the sylvan scenes To taste the various sweets of rural life The bounteous gifts of nature; and in part Recall the bliss of Man's primeval state, I quit the smoaking city's busy strife; Nor with reluctance leave her thronged streets With all her darling pomp, her gay parades Her magesterial train in scarlet robe; Her structures beautiful pil'd high in air Her crowded theaters, or splendid Balls. Now hail ye ample feilds, ye blooming groves Ye limpid streams, that thro' the vallies glide Ye lofty hills commanding prospects round Of wide extent; Ye varied prospects hail! - Where Earth, and Sky and water all combine In all their wondrous forms to fill the Soul
