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 worse. 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 cheft the deadly tiger hangs,
E'er plough'd for him. They too are temper'd high,
With hunger ftung and wild neceffity,
Nor lodges pity in th ir fhaggy breath.
Bat 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 thoufand delicacies, herbs,
And fruits, as numerous as the drops of rain
Or beams that gave them birth: fhall he, fair form!
Who wears fweet 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 luscious ftreams, and lent us your own coat
Against the Winter's cold? And the plain ox,
That harmless, honeft, 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 struggling 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 fage.
High Heaven forbids the bold prefumptuous ftrain,
Whofe wifeft will has fix'd us in a flate
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'd stream
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 feed the floating line,
And all thy flender wat'ry ftores prepare.
But let not on thy hook the tortur'd worm,
Convulfive, twift in agonizing folds;
Which, by rapacious hunger fwallow'd deep
Gives, as you tear it from the bleeding breaft
Of the weak helplefs uncomplaining wretch,
Harsh pain, and horror to the tender hand.
When with his lively ray the potent fun
Has pierc'd the ftreams, and rous'd the finny race,
Then ifling 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, purfue 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 offs
Around the ftone, or from the hollow'd bank
Reverted plays in undulating flow,
There throw, nice-judging, the delusive 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 twitch, the barbed hook:
Some lightly toffing to the graffy bank,
And to the thelving fhore, flow dragging fome,
With various hand proportion'd to their force.
If yet too young, and cafily deceiv'd,
A worthlefs prey fcarce bends your pliant rod,
Him, pitious of his youth and the short 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 fy;
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 fartheft ooze, the sheltering weed,
The cavern'd bank, his old secure abode;
And flies aloft, and flounces round the pool,
Indignant of the guile. With yielding hand,
That feels him ftill, yet to his furious course,
Gives way, you, now retiring, following now,
Acrofs the ftream, exhaust his idle rage:
Till floating broad upon his breathlefs fide,
And to his fate abandon'd, to the fhore
You gaily drag your unrefifting prize.
Thus pafs the temperate hours: but when the fan
Shakes from his noon-day throne the scattering
clouds,
Ev'n fhooting liftlefs langour through the deeps:
Then feek the bank where flowering elders crowd,
Where scatter'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 reelin'd beneath yon spreading afh,
Hung o'er the steep; 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 mufing, in the dream,
Confus'd, of carelefs folitude, where mix
Ten thousand wandering images of things,
Soothe every guft of paflion into peace;
All but the fwellings of the foften'd heart,
That waken, not disturb, the tranquil mind,
Behold yon breathing profpect bids the Mule
Throw all her beauty forth. But who can paint
Like Nature? Can imagination boast.
Amid its gay creation, hues like hers?
@can it mix them with that matchless skill,
And lofe them in each other, as appears
In every bud that blows? If fancy then
Unequal fails beneath the pleasing task,
Ah, what fhall language do? ah, where find words
Ting'd with fo many colours; and whose power,
To life approaching, may perfume my lays
With that fine oil, thofe aromatic gales
That inexhaustive flow continual round?
Yet, though fuccefslefs, will the toil delight.
Come then, ye virgins and ye youths, whofe hearts
Have felt the raptures of refining love;
And thou, Amanda, come, pride of my fong!
Form'd by the Graces, loveliness itself!
Come with those 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
Steals blufhing on, together let us tread
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,
riguous, fpreads. See, how the lily drinks
The latent rill, fcarce oozing through the grafs,
Of growth luxuriant; or the humid bank,
in fair profufion, decks. Long let us walk,
Where the breeze blows from yon extended field
Of bloffom'd beans. Arabia cannot boast
A fuller gale of joy, than, liberal, thence
Breathes through the fenfe, and takes the ravifh'd
Ner is the mead unworthy of thy foot,
Full of freth verdure, and unnumber'd flowers,
The negligence of Nature, wide, and wild;
Where, undifguis'd by mimic art, fhe spreads
Labounded beauty to the roving eye.
Here their delicious tafk the fervent bees,
fwarming millions, tend: around, athwart,
Through the foft air, the bufy nations fly,
Ching to the bud, and, with inferted tube,
Suck its pure effence, its ethereal foul;
And oft, with bolder wing, they foaring dare
The purple heath, or where the wild thyme grows,
And yellow load them with the luscious fpoil.
At length the nifh'd garden to the view
Its vias opens, and its alleys green.
Satch'd through the verdant maze, the hurried
Diffracted wanders; now the bowery walk [eye
Of covert close, where scarce a speck of day
Fail on the lengthen'd gloom, protracted fweeps:
Now meets the bending fky; the river now
Dimpled along, the breezy ruffled lake,
The foreft darkening round, the glittering fpire,
Th' ethereal mountain, and the diftant main.
But why fo far excurfive? when at hand,
Along thefe blushing borders, bright with dew,
And in yon mingled wildernefs of flowers,
Far-handed Spring undofoms every grace;
Throws out the fnow-drop, and the crocus first ;
The daily, primrofe, violet darkly blue,
And polyanthus of unnumber'd dyes;
The yellow wall-flower, ftain'd with iron-brown;
And lavish flock that fcents the garden round:.
From the foft wing of vernal breezes fhed,
Anemonies; auriculas, enrich'd
Wah finning meal o'er all their velvet leaves;
And full 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 florist marks,
With fecret pride, the wonders of his hand.
No gradual bloom is wanting; from the bud,
Firft-born of Spring, to Summer's musky 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-potted pinks;
Nor, fhower'd from every bush, the damask-rose.
Infinite numbers, delicacies, smells,
With hues 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 master-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 swells
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, fpreads
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. When firft the foul of love is fent abroad, Warm through the vital air, and on the heart Harmonious feizes, 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 meffenger of morn; Ere yet the fhadows fly, he mounted fings Amid the dawning clouds, and from their haunts Calls up the tuncful nations. Every copfe Deep-tangled, tree irregular, and bufh Bending with dewy 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 sweetest length Of notes; when liftening Philomela deigns To let them joy, and purposes, in thought Elate, to make her night excel their day. The blackbird whiftles from the thorny brake; The mellow bullfinch 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 leaves, their modulations mix
Mellifluous. The jay, the rook, the daw,
And each harth pipe, difcordant heard alone,
Aid the full concert: while the ftock-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 beasts, 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 thousand tricks to catch
The cunning, confcious, half-averted glance
Of their regardless charmer. Should the feem
Softening the leaft approvance to bestow,
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 spotted wing,
And fhiver every feather with defire.
Connubial leagues agreed, to the deep woods
They hafte away, all as their fancy leads,
Pleafure, or food, or fecret fafety prompts;
That nature's great command may be obey'd:
Nor all the fweet 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 firft 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,
Beat by unnumber'd wings. The fwallow fweeps
The flimy pool, to build his hanging houfe
Intent. And often, from the careless back
Of herds and flocks a thousand 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 ftand
High on th' opponent bank, and ceafelefs fings
The tedious time away: or elfe fupplies
Her place a moment, while fhe fudden flits
To pick the feanty meal. Th' appointed time
With pious toil fulfil'd, the callow young,
Warm'd and expanded into perfe&t life,
Their brittle bondage break, and come to light,
A helpless 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 distributed, 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 breat
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 inspir'd,
Gives initant courage to the fearful race,
And to the fimple art. With flealthy wing,
Should fome rude foot their woody haunts moleft
Amid a neighbouring bufh they filent drop,
And whirring thence, as if alarm'd, deceive
Th' unfeeling school-boy. Hence, around the head
Of wandering fwain, the white wing'd plover whee
Her founding flight, and then directly on
In long excurfion fkims the level lawn, (hence,
To tempt him from her neft. The wild-duck,
O'er the rough mofs, and o'er the tracklefs wafte
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 loft;
Nor is that fprightly wildnefs in their notes.
Which, clear and vigorous, warbles from the beech.
O then, ye friends of love and love-taught fong,
Spare the foft tribes, this barbarous art forbear;
If on your bofom 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 rule, and, low-drooping, fcarce
Can bear the mourner to the poplar fhade;
Where, all abandon'd to despair, the fings
Her forrows through the night; and, on the bough,
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 bounds,
Ardent, difdain; and, weighing oft their wings,
Demand the free poffeffion of the fky:
This one glad office more, and then diffolves
Parental love at once, now needlefs grown.
Unlavish'd wisdom never works in vain.
'Tis on fome evening, funny, grateful, mild,
When nought but balm is breathing through the
woods,
With yellow luftre bright, that the new tribes
Vifit the fpacious heavens, and look abroad
'On nature's common far as they can see,
Or wing, their range and pafture. O'er the boughs
Dancing about, ftill at the giddy verge
Their refolution fails; their pinions still,
In loofe libration stretch'd, to truft the void
Trembling refufe: till down before them fly
The parent-guides, and chide, exhort, command,
Or push them off. The furging air receives
Its plumy burden; and their self-taught wings
Winnow the waving element. On ground
Alighted, bolder up again they lead,
Farther and farther on, the lenghtening flight;
Till, vanish'd every fear, and every power
Rous'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,
Heng o'er the deep, fuch as amazing frowns
On atmoft Kilda's fhore, whofe lonely race
Reign the fetting fun to Indian worlds,
The royal eagle draws his vigorous young,
Strong-pound'd, and ardent with paternal fire.
Now ht to raife a kingdom of their own,
He drives them from his fort, the towering feat,
For ages of his empire; which, in peace,
Unftain'd he holds, while many a league to fea
He wings his courfe, and preys in diffant ifles.
Should I my fteps turn to the rural feat,
Whole lofty elms, and venerable oaks,
Invite the rook, who high amid the boughs,
In early Spring, his airy city builds,
And ceafelefs caws amufive; there, well-pleas'd,
I might the various polity furvey
Of the mixt household kind. The careful hen
Calls all her chirping family around,
Fed and defended by the fearless cock;
Whole breaft with ardour flames, as on he walks,
Graceful and crows defiance. In the pond,
The finely-chequer'd duck, before her train,
Rows garrulous. The ftately-failing fwan
Geves out his fnowy plumage to the gale;
And, arching proud his neck, with oary feet
Bean forward fierce, and guards his ofier-ifle,
Protective of his young. The turkey nigh,
Lond threatening reddens; while the peacock
Hacery-colour'd glory to the fun, [fpreads
And faims in radiant majefty along.
C'er the whole homely fcene, the cooing dove
Fhes thick in amorous chafe, and wanton rolls
The pancing eye, and turns the changeful neck.
While thus the gentle tenants of the fhade
Indulge their purer loves, the rougher world
Of brutes, below, rufh furious into flame,
And fierce defire. Through all his lufty veins
The bull, deep-fcorch'd, the raging paffion feels.
Of paffure fick, and negligent of food,
Scarce feen, he wades among the yellow broom,
While o'er his ample fide the rambling fprays
Luxuriant fhoot; or through the mazy wood
Dejected wanders, nor th' enticing bud
Crops, though it preffes on his careless fenfe.
And oft, in jealous maddening faney wrapt,
He fecks the fight; and, idly-butting, feigns
His rival gor'd in every knotty trunk.
Ham fhould he meet, the bellowing war begins:
Their eyes fafh 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,
• The fartheft of the western iflands of Scotland.
Stands kindling up their rage. The trembling fteed,
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 strong, 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, steep-descending, cleaves
The headlong torrents foaming down the hills,
Ev'n where the madness of the straiten'd ftream
Turns in black eddies round; fuch is the force
With which his frantic heart and finews fwell.
Nor undelighted by the boundless 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 strain, and diffonant, to fing
The cruel raptures of the favage kind :
How by this flame their native wrath sublim'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 start away, and fweep the massy 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 she grew
To this deep-laid indiffoluble state,
Where wealth and commerce lift their golden heads;
And o'er our labours, liberty and law,
Impartial, watch; the wonder of a world!
What is this mighty breath, ye fages, fay,
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 fcheme of things.
But, though conceal'd, to every purer eye
Th' informing Author in his works appears:
Chief, lovely Spring, in thee, and thy soft scenes,
The fmiling God is feen; while water, earth,
And air, atteft his bounty; which exalts
The brute creation to this finer thought,
And annual melts their undefigning hearts
Profufely thus in tenderness 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 raise his being, and ferene his foul.
Can he forbear to join the general fmile
Of nature? Can fierce paflions vex his breast,
While every gale is peace, and every grove
Is melody? Hence ! from the bounteous walko
Of flowing Spring, ye fordid fons of earth,
Hard, and unfeeling of another's wo!
Or only lavish to yourfelves; 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 reftle's goodness wait: your active search
Leaves no cold wintery corner unexplor'd;
Like filent-working heaven, furprising oft
The lonely heart with unexpected good.
For you the roving ipirit 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 these green days,
Reviving fickness 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 ftill.
By swift degrees the love of nature works,
And warms the bofom; till at last sublim'd
To rapture, and enthufiaftic 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 reafon's purer ray,
O Lyttleton the friend! thy paffions thus
And meditations vary, as at large, [fray'ft;
Courting the mufe, through Hagley Park thou
Thy British temple! There along the dale,
With woods o'er-hung, and fhagg'd with molly
rocks,
Whence on each hand the gufhing waters play,
And down the rough cascade white-dafhing fall,
Or gleam in lengthen'd vifta through the trees,
You filent fteal: or fit beneath the shade
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 thefe 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 raise her virtue, and her arts revive.
Or, turning thence thy view, thefe graver thoughts
The mufes charm: while, with fure tafte refin'd,
You draw th' infpiring breath of ancient fong;
Till nobly rifes, cinulous, thy own.
Perhaps thy lov'd Lucinda fhares thy walk,
With foul to thine, attun'd. Then nature all
Wears to the lover's eye a look of lɔve;
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 treafures 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 happinefs! which love,
Alone, beftows, and on a favour'd few.
Meantime you gain the height, from whose fair
brow
The bursting profpect fpreads 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 fmoke, your eye excurfive roams:
Wide-ftretching from the hall, in whofe kind haunt
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 clouds
That fkirt the blue horizon, dufky rife.
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 languifhment. Ah then, ye
Be greatly cautious of your fliding hearts:
Dare not th' infectious figh; the pleading look,
Downcaft, and low, in meek fubmiffion dreft,
But full of guile. Let not the fervent tongue,
Prompt to deceive, with adulation smooth,
Gain on your purpos'd will. Nor in the bower,
Where woodbines flaunt, and rofes fhed a couch,
While evening draws her crimson curtains round,
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 beans, belying heaven, Lurk fearchlefs cunning, cruelty, and death: And still 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 hours; Amid the rofes fierce repentance rears Her fhaky creft: a quick returning pang Shoots through the confcious heart; where honour And great defign, against the oppreflive load Of luxury, by fits, impatient heave.
But abfent, what fantastic woes arous'd, Rage in each thought, by reftlefs mufing fed, Chill the warm check, and blait the bloom of life? Neglected fortune flies; and fliding swift, Prone into ruin, fall his feorn'd affairs.
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