Foam in transparent floods; some strong, to cheer The wintry revels of the labouring hind; And tasteful some, to cool the summer-hours. In this glad season, while his sweetest beams The sun sheds equal o'er the meekened day; Oh lose me in the green delightful walks Of, Dodington, thy seat, serene and plain; Where simple Nature reigns; and every view, Diffusive, spreads the pure Dorsetian downs, In boundless prospect; yonder shagg'd with wood, Here rich with harvest, and there white with flocks! Meantime the grandeur of thy lofty dome, Far-splendid, seizes on the ravish'd eye. New beauties rise with each revolving day; New columns swell; and still the fresh Spring finds New plants to quicken and new groves to green. Full of thy genius all! the Muses' seat:
Where in the secret bower, and winding walk, For virtuous Young and thee they twine the bay. Here wandering oft, fir'd with the restless thirst Of thy applause, I solitary court
Th' inspiring breeze: and meditate the book Of Nature ever open; aiming thence,
Warm from the heart, to learn the moral song. Here, as I steal along the sunny wall,
Where Autumn basks, with fruit empurpled deep, My pleasing theme continual prompts my thought: Presents the downy peach; the shining plum; The ruddy, fragrant nectarine; and dark, Beneath his ample leaf, the luscious fig. The vine too here her curling tendrils shoots; Hangs out her clusters, glowing to the south;
And scarcely wishes for a warmer sky. Turn we a moment Fancy's rapid flight To vigorous soils, and climes of fair extent; Where, by the potent sun elated high, The vineyards swells refulgent on the day;
Spreads o'er the vale; or up the mountain climbs, 685 Profuse; and drinks amid the sunny rocks, From cliff to cliff increas'd, the heightened blaze. Low bend the weighty boughs. The clusters clear, Half through the foliage seen, or ardent flame, Or shine transparent; while perfection breathes White o'er the turgent film the living dew. As thus they brighten with exalted juice, Touch'd into flavour by the mingling ray; The rural youth and virgins o'er the field, Each fond for each to cull th' autumnal prime, Exulting rove, and speak the vintage nigh. Then comes the crushing swain; the country floats, And foams unbounded with the mashy flood;
That by degrees fermented, and refin❜d,
Round the rais'd nations pours the cup cf joy : 700 The claret smooth, red as the lip we press
In sparkling fancy, while we drain the bowl; The mellow-tasted burgundy; and quick, As is the wit it gives, the gay champaign. Now, by the cool declining year condens'd, Descend the copious exhalations, check'd As up the middle sky unseen they stole, And roll the doubling fogs around the hill. No more the mountain, horrid, vast, sublime, Who pours a sweep of rivers from his sides, And high between contending kingdoms rears
The rocky long division fills the view With great variety; but in a night
Of gathering vapour, from the baffled sense
Sinks dark and dreary. Thence expanding far, 715 The huge dusk, gradual, swallows up the plain : Vanish the woods; the dim-seen river seems Sullen, and slow, to roll the misty wave. Even in the height of noon opprest, the sun Sheds weak, and blunt, his wide-refracted ray ; Whence glaring oft, with many a broadened orb, He frights the nations. Indistinct on earth, Seen thro' the turbid air, beyond the life Objects appear; and, wilder'd o'er the waste The shepherd stalks gigantic. Till at last Wreath'd dun around, in deeper circles still Successive closing, sits the general fog
Unbounded o'er the world; and, mingling thick, A formless grey coufusion covers all. As when of old (so sung the Hebrew Bard) Light, uncollected, thro' the chaos urg'd Its infant way; nor Order yet had drawn His lovely train from out the dubious gloom. These roving mists, that constant now begin To smoke along the hilly country, these With weighty rains, and melted Alpine snows, The mountain-cisterns fill, those ample stores Of water, scoop'd among the hollow rocks; Whence gush the streams, the ceaseless fountains play, And their unfailing wealth the rivers draw. Some sages say, that where the numerous wave
For ever lashes the resounding shore,
Drill'd thro' the sandy stratum, every way,
The waters with the sandy stratum rise; Amid whose angles infinitely strain'd, They joyful leave their jaggy salts behind, And clear and sweeten, as they soak along. Nor stops the restless fluid, mounting still, Though oft amidst th' irriguous vale it springs; But to the mountain courted by the sand, That leads it darkling on in faithful maze, Far from the parent-main, it boils again Fresh into day; and all the glittering hill
Is bright with spouting rills. But hence this vain Amusive dream! why should the waters love
To take so far a journey to the hills,
When the sweet valleys offer to their toil Inviting quiet, and a nearer bed?
Or if, by blind ambition led astray,
They must aspire; why should they sudden stop 760 Among the broken mountain's rushy dells,
And, ere they gain its highest peak, desert
Th' attractive sand that charm'd their course so long? Besides, the hard agglomerating salts, The spoil of ages, would impervious choak Their secret channels, or, by slow degrees, High as the hills protrude the swelling vales: Old Ocean too, suck'd thro' the porous globe, Had long ere now forsook his horrid bed, And brought Deucalion's watʼry times again.
Say then, where lurk the vast eternal springs, That, like creating Nature, lie conceal'd From mortal eye, yet with their lavish stores Refresh the globe, and all its joyous tribes? O thou pervading Genius, given to Man,
To trace the secrets of the dark abyss, O lay the mountains bare! and wide display Their hidden structure to th' astonish'd view! Strip from the branching Alps their piny load; The huge incumbrance of horrific woods From Asian Taurus, from Imaus stretch'd Athwart the roving Tartar's sullen bounds! Give opening Hemus to my searching eye, And high Olympus pouring many a stream! O from the sounding summits of the north, The Dofrine Hills, thro' Scandinavia roll'd To farthest Lapland and the frozen main From lofty Caucasus, far seen by those Who in the Caspian and black Euxine toil;
From cold Riphean Rocks, which the wild Russ 790 Believes the STONY GIRDLE of the world;
And all the dreadful mountains, wrapt in storm; Whence wide Siberia draws her lonely floods; O sweep th' eternal snows! hung o'er the deep, That ever works beneath his sounding base, Bid Atlas, propping heaven, as poets feign, His subterranean wonders spread! unveil The miny caverns, blazing on the day, Of Abyssinia's cloud-compelling cliffs, And of the bending Mountains of the Moon! O'ertopping all these giant-sons of earth, Let the dire Andes, from the radiant Line Stretch'd to the stormy seas that thunder round The southern pole, their hideous deeps unfold! Amazing scene! Behold! the glooms disclose, I see the rivers in their infant beds! Deep, deep I hear them lab'ring to get free!
« AnteriorContinuar » |