Meantime refracted from yon eafterni cloud,
Beftriding earth, the grand ethereal bow
Shoots up immenfe; and every hue unfolds,
In fair proportion running from the red,
To where the violet fades into the sky.
Here, awful Newton, the diffolving clouds
Form, fronting on the fun, thy fhowery prifm;
And to the fage inftructed eye unfold
The various twine of light, by that difclos'd
From the white mingling maze. Not fo the boy;
He wondering views the bright enchantment bend,
Delightful, o'er the radiant fields, and runs
To catch the failing glory; but amaz'd
Beholds th' amufive arch before him fly,
Then vanish quite away. Still night fucceeds,
And foften'd fhade, and faturated earth
Awaits the morning-beam, to give to light,
Rais'd through ten thoufand different plastic tubes,
The balny treafures of the former day.

Then fpring the living herbs, profufely wild,
O'er all the deep-green earth, beyond the power
Of botanists to number up their tribes:
Whether he steals along the lonely dale,
In filent fearch; or through the foreft, rank
With what the dull incurious weeds account,
Burts his blind way, or climbs the mountain rock,
Fir'd by the nodding verdure of its brow.
With fuch a liberal hand has nature flung
Their feeds abroad, blown them about in winds,
Innumerous mixt them with the nurfing mold,
The moistening current, and prolific rain.
But who their virtues can declare? who pierce,
With vifion pure, into thefe fecret ftores,
Of health, and life, and joy? The food of man,
While yet he liv'd in innocence, and told
A length of golden years; unfleth'd in blood,
A ftranger to the favage arts of life,
Death, rapine, carnage, furfeit, and difeafe;
The lord, and not the tyrant, of the world.
The firft fresh dawn then wak'd the gladden'd
Of uncorrupted man, nor blufh'd to fee
The fuggard fleep beneath its facred beant:
For their light flumbers gently fum'd away;
And up they rofe as vigorous as the fun,
Or to the culture of the willing glebe,
Or to the cheerful tendance of the flock. [fport,
Meantime the fong went round; and dance and
Wisdom and friendly talk, fucceffive, fole
Their hours away; while in the rofy vale
Love breath'd his infant frhs, from anguish free,
And full replete with blifs fave the fweet pain,
That, inly thrilling, but exalts it more.

Nor

[race

yet injurious act, nor furly deed, Was known among thofe happy fons of heaven; For reafon and benevolence were law. Harmonious rature too look'd fmiling on. Clear fhone the skies, cool'd with eternal gales, And balmy spirit all. The youthful fun Shot his beft rays, and fill the gracious clouds Dropp'd fatnefs down; as o'er the fwelling mead, The herds and flocks, commixing, play'd fecure. This when, emergent from the gloomy wood, The glaring lion faw, his horrid hear i Was meeken'd, and he join'd his ful, a joy. For mufic held the whole in perfect ace: Sigh'd the flute; the tender voice was heard, Warbling the varied heart; the woodlands round Apply'd their quire; and winds and waters flow'd

In confonance. Such were thofe prime of days. But now thofe white unblemish'd manners, whence

The fabling poets took their golden age,
Are found no more amid thefe iron times,
Thefe dregs of life! Now the diftemper'd mind
Has loft that concord of harmonious powers,
Which forms the foul of happiness, and all
Is off the poife within: the paflions all
Have burft their bounds; and reafon, half extinct
Or impotent, or elfe approving, fecs
The foul diforder. Senfelefs, and deform'd,
Convulfive anger ftorms at large; of pale,
And filent, fettles into full revenge.
Bafe envy withers at another's joy,
And hates that excellence it cannot reach.
Defponding fear, of feeble fancies full,
Weak and unmanly, laofens every power.
Ev'n love itself is bitterness of foul,
A penfive anguifh pining at the heart;
Or, funk to fordid iutereft, feels no more
That noble with, that never-cloy'd defire,
Which, felfish joy difdaining, fecks alone
To blefs the dearer object of its flame.
Hope fickens with extravagance; and grief,
Of life impatient, into madness fweits;
Or in dead filence wastes the weeping hours,
Thefe, and a thousand mixt emotions more,
From ever-changing views of good and ill,
Form'd infinitely various, vex the mind
With endlefs ftorm: whence, deeply rankling,
The partial thought, a liftlefs unconcern, [grows
Cold, and averting from our neighbour's good;
Then dark difguft, and hatred, winding wiles,
Coward deceit, and ruffian violence;
At laft, extinct each focial feeling, fell
And joylefs inhumanity pervades
And petrifies the heart. Nature disturb'd
Is deem'd vindictive to have chang'd her courfe..
Hence, in old dufky time, a deluge came:
When the deep-cleft difparting orb, that arch'ď
The central waters round, impetuous rufh'd,
With univerfal barft, into the gulf,

1

And o'er the high-pit'd hills of fractur'd earth
Wide dash'd the waves, in undulation vaft;
Till, from the centre to the ftreaming clouds,
A fhoreless ocean tumbled found the globe.

The Seafons fince have, with feverer fway, Opprefs'd a broken world: the Winter keen Shook forth his wafte of flows; and Summer fhot His peftilential heats. Great Spring, before, Green'd all the year; and fruits and bloffoms blush'd,

In focial fweetness, on the felf-fanie bouch.”
Pure was the temperate air; and even calm
Perpetual reign'd, fave what the zephyrs bland
Breath'd o'er the blue expanfe; for then not
ftorins

Were taught to blow, nor hurricanes to rage;
Sound flept the waters; no fulplareous glooms.
Swell'd in the fy, and fent the lightning forth,
While fickly dumps, and cold autumnal fogs,
Hung not, relaxing, on the fprings of life.
But now, of turbid clements the sport,.
From clear to cloudy toft, from hot to cold,
And dry to moift, with inward-eating change,
Our drooping days are dwindled down to nought
Their period fil'dere tis well begun.

And yet the wholesome herb neglected dics;
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 steer,
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 neceflity,
Nor lodges pity in thir fhaggy breast.
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 thoufand 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 beat 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 harmlefs, honeft, guilelefs 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 fage.
High Heaven forbids the bold prefumptuous 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'dftream
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 flores prepare.
But let not on thy hook the tortur'd worm,
Convulfive, twift in agonizing folds;
Which, by rapacious hunger wallow'd deep
Gives, as you tear it from the bleeding breaft
Of the weak helplefs uncomplaining wretch,
Harfh pain, and harror to the tender hand.

When with his lively ray the potent fun
Has pierc'd the ftreams, and rous'd the finny race,
Then iffuing 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 sport at large.

Juft in the dubious point, where with the pool
Is mix'd the trembling ftream, or where it boils
Around the flone, 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 shelving fhore, flow dragging fome,
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 short space
He has enjoy'd the vital light of heaven,
Soft difengage, and back into the stream
The fpeckled captive throw. But fhould 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 Ke, following cautious, fcans 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 fartheft 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 fill, yet to his furious course,
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 fhore
You gaily drag your unrefifting prize.
Thus pafs the temperate hours: but when the fun
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 fhade;
Or lie reclin'd beneath yon fpreading 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 aery builds.
There let the claffic page thy fancy lead
Through rural fcenes; fuch as the Mantuan fwais
'Paints in the matchlefs harmony of fong,
Or catch thyfelf the landkip, 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 careless folitude, where mix
Ten thousand wandering images of things,
Soothe every guft of pallion into peace;
All but the fellings of the folteir'd heart,
That waker hot difturb, the tranquil mind,

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

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

Ah, what fhall language do? ah, where find words
Ting'd with fo many colours; and whofe 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.

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 thofe downcaft eyes, fedate and sweet,
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 blushing on, together let us tread
The morning dews, and gather in their prime
Fref-blooming flowers, to grace thy braided hair,
And thy lov'd bofom that improves their fweets.
See where the winding vale its lavish ftores,
Irriguous, fpreads. See, how the lily drinks
The latent rill, fearce oozing through the grass,
Of growth luxuriant; or the humid bank,
In fair profufion, decks. Long let us walk,
Where the breeze blows from yon extended field
Oi bloffom'd beans. Arabia cannot boast
A fuller gale of joy, than, liberal, thence [foul.
Breathes through the fenfe, and takes the ravish'd
Nor is the mead unworthy of thy foot,
Full of fresh verdure, and unnumber'd flowers,
The negligence of Nature, wide, and wild;
Where, undifguis'd by mimic art, fhe spreads
Unbounded beauty to the roving eye.
Her, their delicious task the fervent bees,
In fwarming millions, tend: around, athwart,
Through the foft air, the bufy nations fly,
Cling 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 lufcious fpoil.
At length the finish'd garden to the view

Its viftas

opens, and its alleys green.
Spatch'd through the verdant maze, the hurried
Distracted wanders; now the bowery walk [eye
Of covert clofe, where fcarce a fpeck of day
Fails 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 spire,
Th' ethereal mountain, and the diftant main.
But why fo far excurfive? when at hand,
Along thefe blushing borders, bright with dew,
Ard in yon mingled wilderness of flowers,
Fair-handed Spring unbofoms every grace;
Throws out the fnow-drop, and the crocus first ;
The daify, primrofe, violet darkly blue,
And polyanthus of unnumber'd dyes;

The yellow wall-flower, ftain'd with iron-brown;
And lavish flock that feents the garden round:
From the foft wing of vernal breezes fhed,
Anemonies; auriculas, enrich'd

With fhinning 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 florift 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-fpotted pinks;
Nor, shower'd from every bufh, the damask-rofe.
Infinite numbers, delicacies, fmells,

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 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, 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.

Ere

When first 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 ftrain, 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; yet the fhadows fly, he mounted fings Amid the dawning clouds, and from their haunts 'Calls up the tuneful 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 thrufh And wood-lark, o'er the kind-contending throng Superior heard, run through the sweeteft 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 whistles from the thorny brake; The mellow bullfinch anfwers from the grove; Nor are the linnets, o'er the flowering furze

Pour'd out profufely, Eilent. Join'd to these
Innumerous fongfters, in the freshening fhade
Of new-fprung leaves, their modulations mix
Mellifluous. The jay, the rook, the daw,
And each harsh 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 wafte 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 thousand tricks to catch
The cunning, confcious, half-averted glance
Of their regardlefs charmer. Should she feem
Softening the leaft approvance to beftow,
Their colours burnifh, 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
Nefling repair, and to the thicket fore;
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 ftream,
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 reflefs 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 carclefs 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 talk,
Or by fharp hunger, or by fmooth delight,
Though the whole locfen'd fpring around her blows.
Her fympathizing lover talles his ftand
High on th' opponent bank, and ceafelefs fings
The tedious tinie away: or eife fupplies
Her place a moment, while fhe fudden flits
To pick the fcanty meal. Th' appointed time
With pious toil fulfil'd, the callow young,
Warm'd and expanded into perf & 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 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 breaft,
In fome lone cot amid the diftant 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 moleft,
Amid a neighbouring bush they filent drop,
And whirring thence, as if alarm'd, deceive
Th' unfeeling fchool-boy. Hence, around the head
Of wandering fwain, the white wing'dplover wheels
Her founding flight, and then directly on
In long excurfion skims the level lawn, [hence,
To tempt him from her neft. The wild-duck,
O'er the rough mofs, and o'er the trackless wafte
The heath-hen flutters, pious fraud! to lead
The hot pursuing 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 laftre 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 song,
Spare the foft tribes, this barbarous art forbear;
If on your bofom innocence can win,
Mufic engage, or piety perfaade.

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' astonish'd mother finds a vacant neft, By the hard hand of unrelenting clowns Robb'd, to the ground the vain provifion falls; Her pinions rulle, and, low-drooping, scarce Can bear the mourner to the poplar fhade; Where, all abandon'd to defpair, 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 poffeflion of the fky:

This one glad office more, and then diffolves
Parental love at once, now needlefs grown.
Unlavifh'd wifdom 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 fee,
Or wing, their range and pasture. O'er the boughs
Dancing about, ftill at the giddy verge

Their refolution fails; their pinions ftill,
In loofe libration stretch'd, to trust the void
Trembling refufe: till down before them fly
The parent-guides, and chide, exhort, command,
Or pufh them off. The furging air receives
Its plumy burden; and their flf-taught vings
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,
Hung o'er the deep, fuch as amazing frowns
On utmost Kilda's fhore, whofe lonely race
Refign the fetting fun to Indian worlds,
The royal eagle draws his vigorous young,
Strong-pounc'd, and ardent with paternal fire.
Now fit to raife a kingdom of their own,
He drives them from his fort, the towering feat,
ages of his empire; which, in peace,
Unftain'd he holds, while many a league to fea
He wings his courfe, and preys in diftant ifles.
Should I my feps turn to the rural feat,
Whofe lofty clms, and venerable oaks,
Invite the rook, who high amid the boughs,
In early Spring, his airy city builds,

For

And cenfelets caws amufive; there, well-pleas'd, I might the various polity furvey

[fpreads

Of the mixt houfehold 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 lately-failing. fwan Gives out his faowy plumage to the gale; And, arching proud his neck, with oary feet Bears forward fierce, and guards his ofier-ifle, Protective of his young. The turkey nigh, Loud threatening reddens; while the peacock His every-colour'd glory to the fun, And fwims in radiant majefty along. O'er the whole homely feene, the cooing dove Flies thick in amorous chafe, and wanton rolls The glancing eye, and turns the chargeful neck. While thus the gentie tenants of the shade Indulge their purer loves, the rougher world Of brutes, below, rush furious into flame, And fierce defire. Through all his lufty veins The bull, deep-fcorch'd, the raging paffion feels. Of pafture fick, and negligent of food, Scarte 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 carelefs fenfe. And oft, in jealous maddening fancy wrapt, He feeks the fight; and, idly-butting, feigns His rival gor'd in every knotty trunk. Him fhould he meet, the bellowing war begins: Their eyes flafh 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 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, fteep-defcending, cleaves
The headlong torrents foaming down the hills,
Ev'n where the madness of the traiten'd ftream
Turns in black eddies round; fuch is the force
With which his frantic heart and finews 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 grafiy turf,
Inhaling, healthful, the defcending fun.
Around him feeds his many-bleating Bock,
Of various cadence; and his fportive lambs,
This way and that convolv'd, in friskful glee,
Their frolicks play. And now the fprightly race
Invites them forth; when fwift, the fignal given,
They start away, and fweep the inafly 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 decp-laid indiffoluble ftate,

Where wealth and commerce lift their goldenheads;
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,
Adjus, fuftains, and agitates the whole.
He ceafelets works alone; and yet alone
Seems not to work: with fuch perfection fram'
Is this complex ftupendous fcheme of things.
But, though conceal'd, to every purer eye
Th' informing Author in his works appears:
Chicf, 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,
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 breaft,