Two smiling springs had waked the flowers That paint the meads, or fringe the bowers, (Ye lovers, lend your wondering ears, Who count by months, and not by years,) Two smiling springs had chaplets wove To crown their solitude, and love: When lo, they find, they can't tell how, Their walks are not so pleasant now. The seasons sure were changed; the place Had, somehow, got a different face. Some blast had struck the cheerful scene; The lawns, the woods, were not so green. The purling rill, which murmured by, And once was liquid harmony, Became a sluggish, reedy pool: The days grew hot, the evenings cool. The moon, with all the starry reign, Were melancholy's silent train. And then the tedious winter night-- They could not read by candle-light.
Full oft, unknowing why they did, They called in adventitious aid. A faithful, favourite dog ('twas thus With Tobit and Telemachus) Amused their steps; and for a while They viewed his gambols with a smile. The kitten too was comical, She played so oddly with her tail, Or in the glass was pleased to find Another cat, and peeped behind.
A courteous neighbour at the door Was deemed intrusive noise no more. For rural visits, now and then, Are right, as men must live with men. Then cousin Jenny, fresh from town,
A new recruit, a dear delight! Made many a heavy hour go down, At morn, at noon, at eve, at night: Sure they could hear her jokes for ever, She was so sprightly, and so clever!
Yet neighbours were not quite the thing; What joy, alas! could converse bring With awkward creatures bred at home?-- The dog grew dull, or troublesome. The cat had spoiled the kitten's merit, And, with her youth, had lost her spirit. And jokes repeated o'er and o'er, Had quite exhausted Jenny's store. --'And then, my dear, I can't abide This always sauntering side by side.' 'Enough!' he cries, 'the reason's plain: For causes never rack your brain. Our neighbours are like other folks, Skip's playful tricks, and Jenny's jokes, Are still delightful, still would please, Were we, my dear, ourselves at ease. Look round, with an impartial eye, On yonder fields, on yonder sky; The azure cope, the flowers below, With all their wonted colours glow. The rill still murmurs; and the moon Shines, as she did, a softer sun. No change has made the seasons fail, No comet brushed us with his tail. The scene's the same, the same the weather-- We live, my dear, too much together.'