And yet the whole fome herb neglected dies;
Though with the pure exhilarating foul
Of nutriment and health, and vital powers,
Beyond the fearch of art, 'tis copious bleft.
For, with hot ravine fir'd, enfanguin'd man
Is now become the lion of the plain,

And worfe. The wolf, who from the nightly fold Fierce drags the bleating prey, ne'er drunk her milk,

Nor wore her warming fleece: nor has the fteer,
At whofe ftrong chest the deadly tiger hangs,
E'er plough'd for him. They too are temper'd high,
With hunger ftung and wild neceflity,
Nor lodges pity in their fhaggy breaft.

But man, whom Nature form'd of milder clay,
With every kind emotion in his heart,
And taught alone to weep; while from her lap
She pours ten thousand delicacies, herbs,
And fruits, as numerous as the drops of rain
Or beams that gave them birth: fhall he, fair form!
Who wears sweet fmiles, and looks erect on hea-
E'er ftoop to mingle with the prowling herd, [ven,
And dip his tongue in gore? The beaft of prey,
Blood-ftain'd, deferves to bleed: but you, ye flocks,
What have ye done; ye peaceful people, what,
To merit death? you, who have given us milk
In lufcious ftreams, and lent us your own coat
Against the Winter's cold? And the plain ox,
That harmless, honest, guileless animal,
In what has he offended? he, whofe toil,
Patient and ever ready, clothes the land
With all the pomp of harvest: fhall he bleed,
And ftruggling groan beneath the cruel hands,
Ev'n of the clown he feeds? and that, perhaps,
To fwell the riot of th' autumnal feast,
Won by his labour? Thus the feeling heart
Would tenderly fuggeft: but 'tis enough,
In this late age, adventurous to have touch'd
Light on the numbers of the Samian fagc.
High Heaven forbids the bold presumptuous ftrain,
Whofe wifeft will has fix'd us in a state
That must not yet to pure perfection rife.

Now when the first foul torrent of the brooks,
Swell'd with the vernal rains, is ebb'd away,
And, whitening, down their moffy tinctur'dream
Defcends the billowy foam: now is the time,
While yet the dark brown water aids the guile,
To tempt the trout. The well-diffembled fly,
The rod fine-tapering with claftic fpring,
Snatch'd from the hoary fteed the floating line,
And all thy flender wat'ry ftores prepare.
But let not on thy hook the tortur'd worm,
Convullive, twift in agonizing folds;
Which, by rapacious hunger fwallow'd deep
Gives, as you tear it from the bleeding breat
Of the weak helplefs uncomplaining wretch,
Harth pain, and horror to the tender hand.

When with his lively ray the potent fun Has picrc'd the ftreams, and rous'd the finny race, Then iffeing cheerful, to thy fport repair; Chief fhould the western breezes curling play, And light o'er ether bear the fhadowy clouds. High to their fount, this day, amid the hills

And woodlands warbling round, trace up the brooks;

The next, pursue their rocky-channel'd maze,
Down to the river, in whofe ample wave

Their little Naiads love to fport at large.

Juft in the dubious point, where with the pool
'Is mix'd the trembling ftream, or where it boils
Around the ftone, or from the hollow'd bank
Reverted plays in undulating flow,

There throw, nice-judging, the delufive fly;
And as you lead it round in artful curve,
With eye attentive mark the fpringing game.
Strait as above the furface of the flood
They wanton rife, or urg'd by hunger leap,
Then fix, with gentle witch, the barbed hook:
Some lightly toffing to the graffy bank,
And to the shelving fhore, flow dragging some,
With various hand proportion'd to their force.
If yet too young, and easily deceiv'd,

A worthlefs prey fcarce bends your pliant rod,
Him, pitious of his youth and the fhort space
He has enjoy'd the vital light of heaven,
Soft difengage, and back into the stream
The fpeckled captive throw. But should you lure
From his dark haunt, beneath the tangled roots
Of pendent trees, the monarch of the brook,
Behoves you then to ply your finest art.
Long time he, following cautious, scans the fly;
And oft attempts to feize it, but as oft
The dimpled water fpeaks his jealous fear.
At laft, while haply o'er the fhaded fun
Paffes a cloud, he defperate takes the death,
With fullen plunge. At once he darts along,
Deep-ftruck, and runs out all the lengthen'd line:
Then feeks the farthest ooze, the sheltering weed,
The cavern'd bank, his old fecure abode ;
And flies aloft, and flounces round the pool,
Indignant of the guile. With yielding hand,
That feels him ftill, yet to his furious courfe,
Gives way, you, now retiring, following now,
Acrofs the ftream, exhauft his idle rage:
Till floating broad upon his breathlefs fide,
And to his fate abandon'd, to the shore
You gaily drag your unrefifting prize.
Thus pafs the temperate hours: but when the fnn
Shakes from his noon-day throne the scattering
clouds,

Ev'n fhooting liflefs langour through the deeps:
Then feek the bank where flowering elders crowd,
Where fcatter'd wild the lily of the vale
Its balmy effence breathes, where cowflips hang
The dewy head, where purple violets lurk,
With all the lowly children of the shade;
Or lie reclin'd beneath yon fpreading afh,
Hung o'er the fteep; whence, borne on liquid wing
The founding culver fhoots; or where the hawk,
High, in the beetling cliff, his aëry builds.
There let the claffic page thy fancy lead
Through rural fcenes; fuch as the Mantuan fwain
Paints in the matchlefs harmony of fong.
Or catch thyfelf the landfkip, gliding swift
Athwart imagination's vivid eye:
Or by the vocal woods and waters lull'd,
And loft in lonely muting, in the dream,
Confus'd, of carelefs folitude, where mix
Ten thousand wandering images of things,
Soothe every guft of paffion into peace;
All but the fwellings of the foften'd heart,
That waken, not difturb, the tranquil mind,

Behold yon breathing profpect bids the Mufe
Throw all her beauty forth. But who can paint
Like Nature? Can imagination boaft.
Amid its gay creation, hues like hers?

Or can it mix them with that matchless skill,
And lofe them in each other, as appears
in every bud that blows? If fancy then
[[requal fails beneath the pleafing task,

Ah, what fhall language do? ah, where find words
Tag'd with fo many colours; and whose power,
To life approaching, may perfume my lays
With that fine oil, thofe aromatic gales
That inexhauftive flow continual round?

Yet, though fuccefslefs, will the toil delight.

Ce then, ye virgins and ye youths, whofe hearts
Have felt the raptures of refining love;
And thoa, Amanda, come, pride of my fong!
Form'd by the Graces, loveliness itself!
Come with thofe downcaft eyes, fedate and fweet,
Thofe looks demure, that deeply pierce the foul,
Where, with the light of thoughtful reafon mix'd,
Shines lively fancy and the feeling heart:
O come and while the rofy-footed May
Strals blufting on, together let us trend
The morning dews, and gather in their prime
Freh-blooming flowers, to grace thy braided hair,
And thy lov'd bofom that improves their sweets.
See where the winding vale its lavish stores,
In goods, fpreads. See, how the lily drinks
The latent rill, fearce oozing through the grafs,
Ogrowth luxuriant; or the humid bank,

[foul.

r profufion, decks. Long let us walk, Where the breeze blows from yon extended field som'd beans. Arabia cannot boast ller gale of joy, than, liberal, thence thes through the fenfe, and takes the ravish'd the mead unworthy of thy foot, of fresh verdure, and unnumber'd flowers, negligence of Nature, wide, and wild; tere, undifguis'd by mimic art, fhe spreads Intended beauty to the roving eye.

their delicious task the fervent bees, arming millions, tend: around, athwart, rough the foft air, the bufy nations fly, fing to the bud, and, with inferted tube,

in pure effence, its ethereal foul; And cft, with bolder wing, they foaring dare The purple heath, or where the wild thyme grows, And yellow load them with the lufcious fpoil. A length the finish'd garden to the view Its rites opens, and its alleys green.

ch'd through the verdant maze, the hurried Daracted wanders; now the bowery walk [eye Of covert clofe, where fcarce a fpeck of day Fm the lengthen'd gloom, protracted fweeps: meets the bending fky; the river now led along, the breezy ruffled lake,

1 foret darkening round, the glittering fpire,
thereal mountain, and the diftant main.
why fo far excurfive? when at hand,
A thefe blufhing borders, bright with dew,
Ada yon mingled wilderness of flowers,
1-handed Spring unbofoms every grace ;
rows out the fnow-drop, and the crocus first;
1dify, primrofe, violet darkly blue,
Ad polyanthus of unnumber'd dyes;

yellow wall-flower, ftain'd with iron-brown;
lavish ftock that fcents the garden round:
the foft wing of vernal breezes fhed,
monies; auriculas, Enrich'd

thinning meal o'er all their velvet leaves;
fuli ranunculas of glowing red.

Then comes the tulip-race, where beauty plays
Her idle freaks; from family diffus'd
To family, as flies the father-duft,

The varied colours run; and, while they break
On the charm'd eye th' exulting florift marks,
With fecret pride, the wonders of his hand.
Ne gradual bloom is wanting; from the bud,
Firit-born of Spring, to Summer's mufky tribes:
Nor hyacinths, of pureft virgin white,
Low bent, and blufhing inward; nor jonquils
Of potent fragrance; nor narciffus fair,
As o'er the fabled fountain hanging ftill;
Nor broad carnations, nor gay-fpotted pinks;
Nor, fhower'd from every bush, the damafk-rofe.
Infinite numbers, delicacies, fmells,

With haes on hues expreffion cannot paint,
The breath of nature, and her endless bloom.
Hail, Source of Being! Univerfal foul
Of heaven and earth! Effential Prefence, hail!
To Thee I bend the knee; to Thee my thoughts,
Continual, climb; who, with a mafter-hand,
Haft the great whole into perfection touch'd.
By Thee the various vegetative tribes,
Wrapt in a filmy net, and clad with leaves,
Draw the live ether, and imbibe the dew:
By Thee difpos'd into congenial foils,

Stands each attractive plant, and fucks, and fwells
The juicy tide; a twining mafs of tubes.
At Thy command the vernal fun awakes
The torpid fap, detruded to the root
By wintery winds; that now in fluent dance,
And lively fermentation, mounting, spreads
All this innumerous-colour'd fcene of things.

As rifing from the vegetable world
My theme afcends, with equal wing afcend,
My panting mufe; and hark, how loud the woods
Invite you forth in all your gayeft trim.
Lend me your fong, ye nightingales! oh! pour
The mazy-running foul of melody
Into my varied verfe! while I deduce,
From the first note the hollow cuckoo fings,
The fymphony of Spring, and touch a theme
Unknown to fame, the paffion of the groves.

Fre

When firft the foul of love is fent abroad, Warm through the vital air, and on the heart Harmonious fcizes, the gay troops begin, In gallant thought to plume the painted wing; And try again the long-forgotten strain, At first faint-warbled. But no fooner grows The foft infufion prevalent and wide, Than, all alive, at once their joy o'erflows In mufic unconfin'd. Up-fprings the lark, Shrill-voic'd, and loud, the messenger of morn; yet the fhadows fly, he mounted fings Amid the dawning clouds, and from their haunts Calls up the tuneful nations. Every cople Deep-tangled, tree irregular, and bufh Bending with devy moisture, o'er the heads Of the coy quirifters that lodge within, Are prodigal of harmony. The thrush And wood-lark, o'er the kind-contending throng Superior heard, run through the fweetest length Of notes; when liftening Philomela deigns To let them joy, and parpofes, in thought Elate, to make her night xcel their day. The blackbird whiftles from the thorny brake; The mellow bulifinch anfwers from the grove: Nor are the linnets, o'er the flowering furze

Pour'd out profufely, filent. Join'd to thefe
Innumerous fongfters, in the freshening fhade
Of new-fprung Laves, their modulations mix
Mellifluous. The jay, the rook, the daw,
And each harfli pipe, difcordant heard alone,
Aid the full concert: while the flock-dove breathes
A melancholy murmur through the whole.

'Tis love creates their melody, and all
This waste of mufic is the voice of love;
That ev'n to birds, and beafts, the tender arts
Of pleafing teaches. Hence the gloffy kind
Try every winning way inventive love
Can dictate, and in courtship to their mates
Pour forth their little fouls. First, wide around,
With diftant awe, in airy rings they rove,
Endeavouring by a thoufand tricks to catch
The cunning, confcious, half-averted glance
Of their regardlefs charmer. Should the feem
Softening the leaft approvance to beflow,
Their colours burnish, and, by hope infpir'd
They brifk advance; then, on a fudden struck,
Retire diforder'd; then again approach;
In fond rotation fpread the fpotted wing,
And shiver every feather with defire,

Connubial leagues agreed, to the deep woods
They hafte away, all as their fancy leads,
Pleasure, or food, or fecret fafety prompts;
That nature's great command may be obey'd:
Nor all the sweet fenfations they perceive
Indulg'd in vain. Some to the holly-hedge
Neftling repair, and to the thicket fome;
Some to the rude protection of the thorn
Commit their feeble offspring: the cleft tree
Offers its kind concealment to a few,
Their food its infects, and its mofs their nefts.
Others apart far in the graffy dale,

Or roughening wafte, their humble texture weave.
But most in woodland folitudes delight,
In unfrequented glooms, or fhaggy banks,
Steep, and divided by a babbling brook,
Whofe murmurs foothe them all the live-long day,
When by kind duty fix'd. Among the roots
Of hazel, pendent o'er the plaintive stream,
They frame the first foundation of their domes:
Dry fprigs of trees, in artful fabric laid,
And bound with clay together. Now 'tis nought
But reftlefs hurry through the bufy air,
Ecat by unnumber'd wings. The fwallow fweeps
The flimy pool, to build his hanging house
Intent. And often, from the careless back
Of herds and flocks a thoufand tugging bills
Pluck hair and wool; and oft, when unobferv'd,
Steal from the barn a ftraw: till foft and warm,
Clean, and complete, their habitation grows.

As thus the patient dam affiduous fits,
Not to be tempted from her tender task,
Or by fharp hunger, or by fmooth delight,
Though the whole loofen'd fpring around her blows.
Her fympathizing lover takes his stand
High on th' opponent bank, and ceafelefs fings
The tedious time away: or elfe fupplies
Her place a moment, while the fudden flits
To pick the fcanty meal. Th' appointed time
With pious toil fulfii'd, the callow young,
Warm'd and expanded into perfect life,
Their brittle bondage break, and come to light,
A helplefs family, demanding food

With conftant clamour: O what paffions then,

What melting fentiments of kindly care,
On the new parents feize! Away they fly
Affectionate, and undefiring bear
The most delicious morfel to their young;
Which equally diftributed, again

The fearch begins. Ev'n fo a gentle pair,
By fortune funk, but form'd of generous mould,
And charm'd with cares beyond the vulgar brea
In fome lone cot amid the distant woods,
Suftain'd alone by providential heaven,
Oft, as they weeping eye their infant train,
Check their own appetites, and give them all.
Nor toil alone they fcorn: exalting love,
By the great Father of the Spring infpir'd,
Gives inftant courage to the fearful race,
And to the fimple art. With ftealthy wing,
Should fome rude foot their woody haunts mole
Amid a neighbouring bufh they filent drop,
And whirring thence, as if alarm'd, deceive
Th' unfeeling fchool-boy. Hence, around the hea
Of wandering fwain, the white wing'd plover whee
Her founding flight, and then directly on
in long excurfion fkims the level lawn, henc
To tempt him from her neft. The wild-dua
O'er the rough mofs, and o'er the tracklefs wait
The heath-hen flutters, pious fraud! to lead
The hot purfuing fpaniel far aftray.

Be not the mufe afham'd, here to bemoan
Her brothers of the grove, by tyrant man
Inhuman caught, and in the narrow cage
From liberty confin'd, and boundless air.
Dull are the pretty flaves, their plumage dull,
Ragged, and all its brightning luftre lost;
Nor is that fprightly wildnefs in their notes
Which, clear and vigorous, warbles from the bees
O then, ye friends of love and love-taught fong,
Spare the foft tribes, this barbarous art forbear;
If on your bolom innocence can win,
Mufic engage, or piety perfuade.

But let not chief the nightingale lament Her ruin'd care, too delicately fram'd To brook the harsh confinement of the cage. Oft when, returning with her loaded bill, Th' aftonifh'd mother finds a vacant neft, By the hard hand of unrelenting clowns Robb'd, to the ground the vain provision falls; Her pinions ruffle, and, low-drooping, fcarce Can bear the mourner to the poplar thade; Where, all abandon'd to defpair, the fings Her forrows through the night; and, on the boug Sole-fitting, ftill at every dying fall Takes up again her lamentable strain Of winding woe; till, wide around, the woods Sigh to her fong, and with her wail refound.

But now the feather'd youth their former bound Ardent, difdain; and, weighing oft their wings, Demand the free poffeffion of the sky:

This one glad office more, and then diffolves
Parental love at once, now needlefs grown.
Unlavith'd wisdom never works in vain.
'Tis on fome evening, funny, grateful, mild,
When nought but balm is breathing through th
woods,

With yellow luftre bright, that the new tribes
Vifit the fpacious heavens, and look abroad
On nature's common far athey can fee,
Or wing, their range and paiture. O'er the bough
Dancing about, ftill at the giddy verge

Their refolution fails; their pinions still,
In loofe libration ftretch'd, to trust the void
Trembling refufe: till down before them fly
The parent-guides, and chide, exhort, command,
Or with them off. The forging air receives
Es piemy burden; and their felf-taught wings
Wenow the waving element. On ground
Aighted, bolder up again they lead,
Further and farther on, the lenghtening flight 3
Til vanith'd every fear, and every power
Rou'd into life and action, light in air
Th acquitted parents fee their foaring race,
And once rejoicing never know them more.

High from the fummit of a craggy cliff,
Hing o'er the deep, fuch as amazing frowns
On utmoft Kilda's fhore, whofe lonely race
Refign the fetting fun to Indian worlds,
The royalegle draws his vigorous young,
Strug-pounc'd, and ardent with paternal fire.
Now fit to raise a kingdom of their own,
He drives them from his fort, the towering feat,
For ages of his empire; which, in peace,
Unitan'd he holds, while many a league to fea
He wings his courfe, and preys in diftant ifles.
Should I my steps turn to the rural feat,
Whofe lofty elms, and venerable oaks,
rite the rook, who high amid the boughs,
early Spring, his airy city builds,

And ceafe lefs caws amufive; there, well-pleas'd,
night the various polity furvey

the mixt houfehold kind. The careful hen
all her chirping family around,
d and defended by the fearless cock;

afe breaft with ardour flames, as on he walks, Oncefal and crows defiance. In the pond, The finely-chequer'd duck, before her train,

garrulous. The ftately-failing fwan ves out his fnowy plumage to the gale; arching proud his neck, with oary feet s forward fierce, and guards his ofier-ifle, ctive of his young. The turkey nigh, d threatening reddens; while the peacock every-colour'd glory to the fun,

nd faims in radiant majefty along.

[fpreads

er the whole homely fcene, the cooing dove es thick in amorous chafe, and wanton rolls The glancing eye, and turns the changeful neck. While thus the gentle tenants of the shade dulge their purer loves, the rougher world rates, below, rush furious into flame, ad fierce defire. Through all his lufty veins buil, deep-scorch'd, the raging paffion feels. ature fick, and negligent of food,

ce feen, he wades among the yellow broom, Who'er his ample fide the rambling fprays ariant fhoot; or through the mazy wood jeded wanders, nor th' enticing bud

ps, though it preffes on his carelefs fenfe. And oft, in jealous maddening fancy wrapt, Beecks the fight; and, idly-butting, feigns rival gor'd in every knotty trunk. Bhould he meet, the bellowing war begins: Their eyes flash fury; to the hollow'd earth, Whence the fand flies, they mutter bloody deeds, And groaning deep, th' impetuous battle mix: While the fair heifer, balmy breathing, near,

Stands kindling up their rage. The trembling steed,
With this hot impulfe feiz'd in every nerve,
Nor heeds the rein, nor hears the founding thong;
Blows are not felt; but, toffing high his head,
And by the well-known joy to diftant plains
Attracted ftrong, all wild he bursts away;
O'er rocks, and woods, and craggy mountains flies:
And, neighing, on th' aerial fummit takes
Th' exciting gale; then, fteep-defcending, cleaves
The headlong torrents foaming down the hills,
Ev'n where the madnefs of the ftraiten d stream
Turns in black eddies round; fuch is the force
With which his frantic heart and fine ws fwell.

Nor undelighted by the boundlefs Spring
Are the broad monsters of the foaming deep:
From the deep ooze and gelid cavern rous'd,
They flounce and tumble in unwieldly joy.
Dire were the ftrain, and diffonant, to fing
The cruel raptures of the favage kind :
How by this flame their native wrath fublim'd,
They roam, amid the fury of their heart,
The far-refounding wafte in fiercer bands,
And growl their horrid loves. But this the them

I fing, enraptur'd, to the British Fair,
Forbids, and leads me to the mountain-brow,
Where fits the fhepherd on the graffy turf,
Inhaling, healthful, the defcending fun.
Around him feeds his many-bleating flock,
Of various cadence; and his fportive lambs,
This way and that convolv'd, in frifkful glee,
Their frolicks play. And now the sprightly race
Invites them forth; when fwift, the fignal given,
They ftart away, and fweep the mafly mound
That runs around the hill; the rampart once
Of iron war, in ancient barbarous times,
When difunited Britain ever bled,
Loft in eternal broil: ere yet fhe grew
To this deep-laid indiffoluble state,

Where wealth and commerce lift their golden headsy
And o'er our labours, liberty and law,
Impartial, watch; the wonder of a world!

What is this mighty breath, ye fages, lay,
That in a powerful language, felt, not heard,
Inftructs the fowls of heaven; and through their
breaft

Thefe arts of love diffufes? What, but God?
Infpiring God! who, boundless spirit all,
And unremitting energy, pervades,
Adjufts, fuftains, and agitates the whole.
He ceafelefs works alone; and yet alone
Seems not to work: with fuch perfection fram'd
Is this complex ftupendous scheme of things.
But, though conceal'd, to every purer eye
Th' informing Author in his works appears:
Chief, lovely Spring, in thee, and thy foft fcenes,
The fmiling God is feen; while water, earth,
And air, atteft his bounty; which exalts
The brute creation to this finer thought,
Ard annual melts their undefigning hearts
Profufely thus in tendernefs and joy.

Still let my fong a nobler note affume,
And fing th' infufive force of Spring on man;
When heaven and earth, as if contending, vie
To raife his being, and ferene his foul.
Can he forbear to join the general smile
Of nature? Can fierce paffions vex his breaft,
While every gale is peace, and every grove
Is melody? Hence! from the bounteous walks

Of flowing Spring, ye fordid fons of carth,
Hard, and unfeeling of another's wo!
Or only lavish to yourselves; away!
But come, ye generous minds, in whofe wide
Of all his works, creative bounty burns [thought,
With warmest beam; and on your open front
And liberal eye, fits, from his dark retreat
Inviting modeft want. Nor, till invok'd
Can reftlefs goodness wait: your active fearch
Leaves no cold wintery corner unexplor'd;
Like filent-working heaven, furprifing oft
The lonely heart with unexpected good.
For you the roving fpirit of the wind
Blows Spring abroad; for you the teeming clouds
Defcend in gladfome plenty o'er the world;
And the fun sheds his kindeft rays for you,
Ye flower of human race! In thefe green days,
Reviving ficknefs lifts her languid head:
Life flows afresh; and young-ey'd health exalts
The whole creation round. Contentment walks
The funny glade, and feels an inward blifs
Spring o'er his mind, beyond the power of kings
To purchase. Pure ferenity apace
Induces thought, and contemplation still.
By fwift degrees the love of nature works,
And warms the bofom; till at laft fublim'd
To rapture, and enthusiastic heat,
We feel the prefent Deity, and tafte
The joy of God to fee a happy world!

Thefe are the facred feelings of thy heart,
Thy heart inform'd by reafer's purer ray,
O Lyttleton the friend! thy paffions thus
And meditations vary, as at large, [ftray'ft;
Courting the mufe, through Hagley Park thou
Thy British temple! There along the dale,
With woods o'er-hung, and fhagg'd with moffy
rocks,

Whence on each hand the gufhing waters play,
And down the rough cafcade white-dafhing fall,
Or gleam in lengthen'd vifta through the trees,
You filent fteal: or fit beneath the fhade
Of folemn oaks, that tuft the fwelling mounts
Thrown graceful round by Nature's careless hand,
And penfive liften to the various voice

Of rural peace the herds, the flocks, the birds,
The hollow-whifpering breeze, the plaint of rills,
That, purling down amid the twisted roots
Which creep around, their dewy murmurs fhake
On the footh'd ear. From these abftracted oft,
You wander through the philofophic world;
Where in bright train continual wonders rife,
Or to the curious or the pious eye.
And oft, conducted by hiftoric truth,
You tread the long extent of backward time:
Planning, with warm benevolence of mind,
And honeft zeal unwarp'd by party-rage,
Britannia's weal; how from the venal gulf
To raife her virtue, and her arts revive.
Or, turning thence thy view, these graver thoughts
The mufes charm: while, with fure tafte refin'd,
You draw th' infpiring breath of ancient fong;
Till nobly rifes, emulous, thy own.
Perhaps thy lov'd Lucinda thares thy walk,
With foul to thine, attun'd. Then nature all
Wears to the lover's eye a look of love;
And all the tumult of a guilty world,
Toft by ungenerous paffions, finks away.
The tender heart is animated peace;

And as it pours its copious treasures forth,
In varied converfe, foftening every theme,
You, frequent paufing, turn, and from her eyes,
Where meeken'd fenfe, and amiable
grace,
And lively fweetnefs dwell, enraptur'd, drink
That nameless fpirit of ethereal joy,
Unutterable happiness! which love,
Alone, beftows, and on a favour'd few.
Meantime you gain the height, from whofe fair
brow

The bursting profpect spreads immense around:
And fnatch'd o'er hill and dale, and wood and lawn,
And verdant field, and darkening heath between,
And villages embofom'd foft in trees,

And fpiry towns by furging columns mark'd
Of household smoke, your eye excursive roams:
Wide-ftretching from the hall, in whofe kind haun
The hofpitable genius lingers ftill,

To where the broken landscape, by degrees,
Afcending, roughens into rigid hills;
O'er which the Cambrian mountains, like far cloud
That skirt the blue horizon, dufky rise.

Flufh'd by the fpirit of the genial year,
Now from the virgin's cheek a fresher bloom
Shoots, lefs and lefs, the live carnation round;
Her lips blufh deeper fweets; fhe breathes of youth.
The fhining moisture fwells into her eyes,
In brighter flow; her wishing bofom heaves,
With palpitations wild; kind tumults feize
Her veins, and all her yielding foul is love.
From the keen gaze her lover turns away,
Full of the dear ecftatic power, and fick
With fighing languishment. Ah then, ye fair!
Be greatly cautious of your fliding hearts:
Dare not th' infectious figh; the pleading look,
Downcaft, and low, in meek fubmiflion dreft,
But full of guile. Let not the fervent tongue,
Frompt to deceive, with adulation smooth,
Gain on your purpos'd will. Nor in the bower.
Where woodbines flaunt, and roses shed a couch
While evening draws her crimson curtains roun
Truft your foft minutes with betraying man.

And let th' afpiring youth beware of love, Of the fmooth glance beware; for 'tis too late, When on his heart the torrent-foftnefs pours. Then wifdom proftrate lies, and fading fame Diffolves in air away; while the fond foul, Wrapt in gay vifions of unreal blifs, Still paints th' illufive form; the kindling grace Th' enticing fmile; the modeft-feeming eye, Beneath whofe beauteous beams, belying heave Lurk fearchlefs cunning, cruelty, and death: And ftill falfe-warbling in his cheated ear, Her fyren voice, enchanting, draws him on To guileful fhores, and meads of fatal joy. Ev'n prefent, in the very lap of love Inglorious laid; while mufic flows around, Perfumes and oils, and wine, and wanton hour Amid the roles fierce repentance rears Fler fhaky creft: a quick returning pang Shoots through the confcious heart; where hon And great defign, against the oppressive load Of luxury, by fits, impatient heave.

But abfent, what fantastic woes arous'd, Rage in each thought, by reftlefs musing fed, Chill the warm cheek, and blast the bloom of Neglected fortune flies; and fliding fwift, Prone into ruin, fall his scorn'd affairs.