Original poems on several subjects :: :: University of Virginia Library

Subject proposed—Invocation—Address to Dr Young—Winter represented making his final exit from nature—Spring delineated as a person— Her dress and ornaments described—The husbandman admonished to activity—What revolutions in the affairs of life attend the approach of Spring—Their diversity in some particulars specified —Conservatory—Vineyard—Angling— Hunting—Swallow's sagacity—Miser contrasted with the season—Dancing of shepherds and shepherdesses—Statesman introduced—View of the shepherd tending his flock—The industry and œconomy of the bees celebrated—Cautions to the fair sex—Advice in the choice of a husband—Contemplation, Genius, and Science inspired by the season —Early rising recommended—View of the olitory —Prospect of a painter drawing his landscapes —Ardelia characterised—Panegyric on virtue, as the enlarger of our faculties, the improver of our taste, and the only foundation of our happiness— Survey of the flower-garden—The poet exhibited —Fancy invoked—Comparison between Britain and other nations—Rural sports—Apostrophe to happiness—Orchard described—Address to Imagination —Encomium on independence—Love-scenes —Digression on Britain and liberty—Poets entreated to sing her victories—Evening scene— Sketch of night—Conclusion.—

BOOK I.

Spring is my theme, with her attendant throng,
That to the covert or the plain belong;
Earth's beauteous tracts that endless forms assume,
The sweets of Nature, and her various bloom;
The gentle sunshine, and soft trickling showers,
The whisp'ring gales, and downy-pinion'd hours,
That ever in their kindly flight display
Something creative of the poet's lay.
On such a theme, O for the Mantuan quill,
To paint with fancy, and correct with skill!
Come, meek-ey'd Genius of the Vernal Year,
Whatever gentle name delights thine ear,
Whether what mortals, or what angels use,
Propitious now be present with the Muse,

While she essays in artless strains to sing
The opening beauties of the new-born Spring .

Pardon the numbers, Young, that, lightly penn'd,
Would to the candour of thy ear pretend,
That candour which solicits still the charge,
To lessen faults, and beauties to enlarge;
Hence to derive what their deserts disclaim,
What sordid riches cannot purchase, fame.
To paint the florid landscape as it blooms,
Swells with fresh sweets, or with deep thickets glooms;
To trace, on raptur'd Fancy's airy wing,
The Progress of the youthful-featur'd Spring,
As boundless round her splendid eye she throws,
On earth and skies her living smile bestows;
This they attempt: O favour the design,
Then shall the Season with new lustre shine;
Then shall the winds in gentler whispers blow,
And limpid streams with softer cadence flow;
Each blossom breathe more rich effluvias round,
And Music charm with sweeter powers of sound:

If, in Life's closing scene of home-felt ease,
Aught can below the songs of angels please;
When but Religion boasts the power to charm,
And not even Death can in approach alarm;
When kings unenvy'd rule Earth's parted ball,
Eternity thy wish, thy hope, thy all.
Eternity!—dread, solemn, pleasing thought,
When Virtue's sons, to the last conflict brought,
Humble, though firm, expectants of the sky,
Like Young have liv'd, like Young have learn'd to die!

Now Winter, warn'd by the revolving sun,
His gloomy period of dominion run,
While a dark mist of vapours round him forms,
From every quarter gathers in his storms,
And locks up all his magazines of cold,
That late requir'd the mantle's thickest fold;
Then, while to follow all his blasts prepare,
O'er the uncultur'd heath, or mountain bare,
Speeds sullen to the North's congenial sky,
Where icy deserts meet his downcast eye;
Where barren tracts immense, to Spring unknown,
With all the depths of wildness overgrown;

Where frightful glooms, scarce visited by day,
Give his collected tempests dreadful play:
Hither, where chaos its first state asserts,
The rugged Tyrant frowningly departs;
But not before, in his reluctant flight,
From some huge promontory's snow-clad height,
He turns, and with indignant groan, as if!
A deluge thunder'd o'er some shatter'd cliff,
Beholds the Empress of the coming year,
Spring, in the chambers of the south appear.
From the bright prospect he averts his face
Invidious, and accelerates his pace.

She comes! the fairest daughter of the skies,
With countenance serene, and starry eyes,
Attended by the dazzling lord of day,
Advancing in his broad ecliptic way.
A camus green, not wove in mortal loom,
Of texture light, and scented with perfume,
In many a shining fold falls loose behind,
And swells, and waves, and wantons in the wind.
An emerald girdle, wrought in curious taste
With mystic figures, binds her slender waist.
Selected flowers, in beauteous order laid,
Encircling her smooth fragrant temples shade.

Down her slopt neck, white as unsullied snow,
In graceful wreaths her liberal tresses flow.
Dependent from her hand, of waxen hue,
A casket richly stor'd, she holds to view,
Where all those objects, various that partake
Of beauty, or in drapery or make,
To charm the studious thought, the pensive hour,
From the tall cedar, to the dew-dropt flow'r,
(Assemblage vast) conceal'd in embryo lie,
Soon to unfold beneath the genial sky:
Luxuriant these, while fostering zephyrs blow,
And all the season's vital fervours glow,
Her gifts restricted by no sordid bound,
She scatters and diffuses all around.

She comes! and with her Peace, Content, and Mirth,
Pleas'd to see Nature's offsprings start to birth;
To see unnumber'd forms of beauty rise,
Where-e'er she glances round her dew-bright eyes;
From Winter's sleep ten thousand objects wake,
Spring into life, and all its sweets partake.
When pale Aurora op'd her feeble eye,
The fleecy clouds that spread the eastern sky;
Or when, in course oblique, the distant sun
His journey, short and comfortless, had run,

The languid streaks, that ting'd the blue expanse,
Were kindly-flitting signs of her advance:
While, in the liquid regions of the air,
To birds of gentler nature yet severe,
The sky-lark, pois'd on elevated wing,
Predictive first made her attempts to sing;
A prelude to that universal song
To ravish from the vocal groves ere long.

She comes! on no ungracious errand sent,
Let sloth not counteract her kind intent;
To lavish plenty with unsparing hand,
At Culture's friendly call, to every land.
Hence, num'rous arts their origin derive,
And Commerce in due vigour kept alive.
Hence, Industry, with unrelaxing hands,
Around a world dispenses her commands.
Hence, new inventions sharpen human wit,
And various duties various objects fit.
Hence, stated labours brace the active nerve,
And from disease the healthful frame preserve.
Hence, from the lawless rage of fierce desires,
The soften'd heart a gentler mold acquires;
To the rough manner, and deportment wild,
Succeeds, at length, the tractable and mild.

Hence, all the tender soft affections rise,
That bind mankind by universal ties;
Those passions, that with noblest ardours burn,
Or of a social, or a patriot turn.
Each office, hence, of kindness and respect,
Which to ennoble serve, while they connect.
Hence, sceptred princes, and the mighty great,
Rob'd in the purple finery of state;
Oft vain distinction to maintain alone,
The distance from a cottage to a throne,
Although but badges of exterior sign,
Which should as proofs but secondary shine.
Hence, in the delicacy of attire,
While all hearts feel their pow'r, all eyes admire,
Woman, the queen of beauty, looks so fair,
So soft, so exquisite, beyond compare;
Through all her frame transfus'd the living ray
Divine, that kindles darkness into day;
Which shot through Nature, on etherial wing,
Changes the gloom of Winter into Spring;
Pierces earth's most retir'd recesses through,
And bids a new creation rise to view:
While not a cherub, blooming from the skies,
Can match the humid splendour of her eyes;

Her outward form in dignity and grace,
Or the mild open glory of her face.

She comes! ye nymphs, and jovial swains, prepare
With choicest gifts to entertain the fair,
Gifts she despises longer to detain,
Than to refund with vast increase of gain.
Let all things wear their softest aspects round,
The landscape polish'd, and improv'd the ground.
Else, will the Goddess with a scornful pride,
Attended by her Graces, turn aside,
Disdaining there to cast her partial eye,
Where all things in a rude disorder lie;
Aside, where greater taste attracts her view,
What art effects, or elegance can do.
Let mantling groves (soon one expansive shade)
Be fitted up to lodge the charming maid;
The flow'ry tribe, which science scarce can count,
The hedge, parterre, the arbour, and the mount,
The copse, the orchard, nursery, and pond,
Pavilion, grot, and labyrinth beyond,
The lengthen'd alley, vista, and cascade,
Attractive all of her fair presence made.

She comes! descending from an amber cloud,
While Nature in grand chorus shouts aloud,

The balm and warmth prolific to infuse,
Through earth's cold womb, and shed the fatt'ning dews;
Thy elder sister, radiant Summer, born,
Mild in the soften'd blushes of the morn.

Up, husbandman! for shame, unactive now!
Up to the manly labours of the plough,
To which alike the monarch, and the clown.
Is for his crook indebted, or his crown.
Adjust your tackle, yoke your well-fed steer,
Behold the quick advances of the year.
For you, the tedious night less lengthen'd grows,
And what it loses to the day bestows.
For you, the skies in ceaseless bounty pour
The lucid dew-drops, or the copious show'r.
From southern climes, for you, the zephyr brings
Congenial mildness on its rosy wings;
To a loose texture yields the kindly land,
That breaks apace, and crumbles to the hand.
Juices, for you, fermenting to and fro,
Through earth's elastic tubes meand'ring flow.
Haste, peasant, to the field, and sidelong lay
The yielding surrow to the pointed ray;
That Spring, arriv'd, may bid the mellow'd soil
Soon amply recompense your honest toil;

That riches, free from all the guilt of trade,
May ease your cares, when youth and vigour fade;
When years and industry have silver'd o'er
Your honour'd locks with venerable hoar;
More venerable thus, in Virtue's sight,
Than the ag'd warriour's from the fields of fight.

She comes! around her lenient zephyrs play,
As, sweetly smiling, on she wins her way,
And copious, from each balm-collecting wing,
The joyful year's ambrosial odours fling;
Diffusive heat breathes in each friendly gale,
And soft'ning spreads along the fertile vale.
In every bush the feather'd quire convene,
With songs to welcome their approaching queen;
Each ardent strains its little quiv'ring throat,
To warble forth a bold unrival'd note;
Sounds infinitely vary'd they practise,
Sink to the lute, or to the clarion rise:
While Echo, sitting in her rocky cell,
On every tone delighted seems to dwell;
Gives a new cadence to each air they sing,
While earth and skies with gratulations ring.

Mean time, with glance ineffable, she looks
On hills, receding valleys, groves, and brooks;

Hills, where no flocks the eye excursive spies,
That rise up in bleak prospect to the skies;
Valleys, of all their flowery pride despoil'd,
Their freshness wither'd, and their beauty soil'd;
Groves, of their leaf-wove mantles rudely stript,
Those pipes constring'd that once the moisture sipt;
Brooks, foully swoln with many a sordid rill,
The gross refuse of ev'ry slimy hill.
But lo! soon as the sun-beam from her eye,
Rapid as thought, is darted through the sky,
The mantling trees in foliage green are clad,
And fields with checker'd carpets overspread;
While, from the manger and the stall dismiss'd,
The herds domestic feed where-e'er they list.
From ev'ry trunk shoots forth an infant stem,
Each leaf bright-twinkling with a liquid gem.
In silken convolutions wrapt from cold,
Bud within bud, and fold inclosing fold,
The tender bloom acquires its various glow,
By sap nutritious suckled from below.
Gentle and limpid flows each murmuring rill,
And verdant rises every sloping hill.
O'er the fresh lawn the crouded villa's spread,
By business some, and some by pleasure led;

Each with glad heart the ardent look returns,
And each with social warmth of friendship burns;
The laugh, the cordial shake, and rustic jest,
With homely proof, their mutual joy attest,
Unmingled joy, peace, hope, content, and ease,
Each pleas'd alike, as each intent to please:
While not the titled grandee passing by,
With haughty air, attracts one envious eye.
Such feelings, Spring, thy magic smiles impart,
Such warm effusions of the grateful heart;
Such nameless raptures thy soft charms create,
Such gentle passions in thy train await!

Not so when tempests, big with rain and snow,
Discharg'd their fury on the world below;
When seldom, from the windows of the skies,
The cloudless sun look'd out with radiant eyes;
When frost in chains the stagnate rivers bound,
Naked the woods, and waste the barren ground;
Or down from rock-brow'd mountains, white before,
The torrent tumbled with impetuous roar;
When round the fire the shiv'ring ring conven'd,
Scarce social there from the dire season screen'd;
When gloom-wrapt silence, dreary and profound,
Thro' the mute groves hush'd each enliv'ning sound;

When trooping flocks to friendly shelters throng'd,
And night was to disgusting length prolong'd;
While dreams, where Fancy runs her wild career,
Gave superadded horrour to the year.

Now fleets, long by tempestuous months confin'd,
Expand their loosen'd canvas to the wind,
To circulate the special wealth, betimes,
Of inland kingdoms, or sea-border'd climes.
The silk-worm's gaudy labours (to deride
And swell the petulance of human pride)
Gums, spices, costly gems, furs, pearls, ore,
And all the treasures of vast India's shore,
Lie ready rang'd, the merchant's promis'd right,
To change their skies, when stars benign invite.
Yonder fair Commerce wakes her sun-burnt crew,
Gain's everlasting labour to renew.
Along the beach in ardent throngs they croud,
To stow the freight, or mend the broken shroud.
For one thing some, some for another call,
Ambition, duty, hope, inspirit all:
While gales propitious, courting them away,
Amongst the half-furl'd sheets and cordage play;
Ocean and sky, at unknown distance met,
Serene, seem to reproach their sails unset.

Now Navies, with selected warriours mann'd,
The boast and bulwark of some mighty land,
(Such as croud Albion's warlike ports, to awe
Contending states, and give Europa law),
To purchase new, or old possessions keep,
With shout tumult'ous launch into the deep;
Their sails distent to ev'ry breeze that blows,
And arm'd with Death's dread tubes, in brazen rows,
Where thunders slumber, soon to wake aloud,
Bursting explosive in a fiery cloud;
While Heav'n's vast concave, whelm'd in smoke, resounds,
And Ocean trembles through his watery bounds.

Now o'er the plough the sturdy peasant bends,
And whistles as the furrow he extends;
The rooks oft scaring, that in ceaseless change,
With wild kaw, o'er the glist'ning surface range;
Now drags the harrow, with unwearied toil,
Cross the rough ridges of the lumpy soil:
Another scatters, on the mould'ring land,
The oats or barley, with impartial hand;
Around him pigeons form'd in airy ring,
Shot the coy glance, or spread the frequent wing:
While gentle weather, and unclouded skies,
Make heart-felt pleasure sparkle in their eyes.

In yonder vineyard, to the south expos'd,
From blasting colds by lofty mounts inclos'd,
The patient hind takes his commodious stand,
To form and fashion all with curious hand;
Some vines to prop, and others to arrange,
As suns revolve, and months successive change:
And, though his task laborious seldom staid,
His cares he reckons amply overpaid,
When the rich grape, in purple clusters hung,
Swells to the eye, and sweetens to the tongue.

Where yonder bed transmitted heat receives,
And plants exotic spread their tender leaves,
From sickly damps secure, and drenching show'rs,
Another spends his task-allotted hours.
The warmest earth he brings, and richest soils,
Pregnant with salts and vegetable oils,
Lest, long accustom'd to a gentler sky,
Their famish'd roots should shrivel up and die.
Let Winter boast not his resistless cold,
Here Spring's eternal triumphs we behold.
Amid his icy blasts, and hills of snow,
When all's one undistinguish'd waste below;
Here Vegetation, as in Summer-skies,
Around her sees her infant offsprings rise.

With all his implements of craft supplied,
The peacock's honours, and the courser's pride,
With wheel apt-fix'd, and rod of pliant wood,
The Angler trips along in lightsome mood,
And to some river's wonted margin goes,
Where swells the pool, or stream o'er pebbles flows:
Scorning the life of Sloth's voluptuous sons,
Which idly in one languid tenour runs;
On which Hope seldom shines with cheerful light,
Dead to the brisker feelings of delight.

Bending, in graceful attitude he stands,
And all the glassy surface wide commands;
Amid lone Solitude's romantic haunts,
Where spreads the bramble, or the willow flaunts;
Silent and calm; save when a tuneful thrush
Salutes his pensive ear from hawthorn-bush.
With equal poise, and well-adapted hand,
He guides and vibrates his elastic wand;
With gentle shake, in plumage not its own,
(His basket careless o'er his shoulders thrown),
Dances his fly, disguis'd for sudden prey,
In all the frisks of apt-dissembled play:
Then to the brink, exulting, on his hook,
He drags the full-grown monarch of the brook;

Or lightly tosses, arching over head,
The smaller fry upon the sandy bed.

Delighted thus he spends the jocund hours,
When Morn, or Eve, distils the lucid show'rs;
Thus (courts less innocent repasts afford)
With unbought dainties loads his frugal board;
Tastes the bland sweets of bloom-imparting Health,
Often deny'd to Grandeur and to Wealth;
Feels at his gladden'd heart her vital heat,
And in each throbbing vein impulsive beat.

Yet, o'er the rushy tract, or champain bare,
The panting hounds pursue the timid hare;
Or from the thicket, or inclosure, start
The fox insidious, or swift-footed hart.
Soon as Aurora peeps o'er eastern hills,
His winding horn the early huntsman fills;
Strait, from their kennel, pour the fawning crew,
With ears deep hung to sweep the tainted dew;
In tuneful uproar round their master croud,
Aw'd by his stamp, as of his plaudit proud.
Yonder apart awaits the neighing steed,
With nostrils wide, and limbs well-turn'd for speed
Elate in sprightly youth he paws the ground,
And pricks his ears at each accustom'd sound.

On ev'ry side casts his effulgent eye,
As if his lord solicitous to spy.
His lord arrives; big with disdain he looks,
Curvets, and his arch'd neck in triumph crooks;
Eager to give his airy soul to flight,
Leap the fenc'd drain, or clear the quickset height.

Active, meantime, while silence reigns profound,
The beagles range athwart the covert ground;
The furrow, sunny glade, or level park,
Impatient for their master's well-known hark!
Anon, the leader of the stanch-nos'd train
Detects the vapour warm along the plain;
Then, with superiour voice by all confest,
Gives the expected signal to the rest.
Full on the scent convene the cautious hounds,
Forming a concert of melodious sounds;
Which, with the loud halloo, the sportsman's crack,
Oft-us'd incitements to the rival pack;
The frequent rush of feet, and horn blown shrill,
Mix, swell, and undulate from hill to hill:
While ardent crouds, from each contiguous cot,
Assembled on the first commanding spot,
With ravish'd ears, and anxious eyes, survey
The various fortune of the busy day.

Before, the game, by frantic fear impell'd,
Scours nimbly on, up the long rig beheld,
Each back-shrunk ear, to stimulate her pace,
Stunn'd with the noisy tumult of the chace.
Yet at safe distance she her flight maintains,
Preserves her vigour, though each nerve she strains;
Her half-sunk spirits seem elated hence,
And comfort lightly shoots across her sense.
Short respite; soon her strength exhausted flags,
Quick throbs her heart, and feebly move her legs.
Fierce at her heels approach the growling throng,
And smoking steeds in triumph stretch along.
Now all, expectant of her sudden fate,
Their speed and ardour by degrees abate.
Each claims a merit in the helpless prize,
Though early started, yet so late she dies.
Her gait unsteady, wildly-carried eye,
Turns oft repeated, and infantile cry,
Her frequent starts, and half-returning breath,
Presage her instant seizure, and her death.
But shall the soft-ey'd Muse of bloodshed sing?
Shall violence wound the chaste ear of Spring?

Ye noble swains, with youthful transports warm,
Whom rural scenes of recreation charm;

Forbear an exercise, that best agrees
With naked sences, and dismantled trees.
The farmer now his finish'd task beholds,
His hedges planted, and secur'd his folds;
The gen'rous seed, his future harvest, sown,
And round his parks defensive ditches thrown:
Guard then his property, his wealth you share,
Nor render useless all his prudent care.
From pain and death a short cessation give,
O let the guiltless hare and partridge live!
Lest, when the year completes her golden round,
No sports endear your stubble-tufted ground.
Rather, in some late flood-swoln current set
Your moss-fed bait, or spread your swelling net:
From his retreat the famish'd pike to lure,
Or in its wiles the speckled trout secure.
But, if you would affect a nobler prize,
Drag the huge salmon out, with blood-shot eyes;
Now to the river's upmost depths he strays,
While the broad curl his presence soon betrays.
Here all your fortune, all your judgment try,
Beneath the smiles of an indulgent sky;
Nor fancy things repugnant should assort,
But let each season have its proper sport.

The End of the First Book.

By Spring, in the following poem, the writer does not restrict himself to that precise period circumscribed by three months, the usual sense in which it is understood; but considers it in a more extensive light, as comprehending all that part of the agreeable Season in which vegetation is carried on.

The conservatory or greenhouse.

BOOK II.

Now, thro' the fluid azure of the skies,
Domestic bird, the fleet-wing'd swallow flies;
Now, in some window, for a stated rest,
With care maternal, builds her oval nest.
Or cornice underneath; as if she came
Mankind's protection from assault to claim.
Nor let her confidence be ill repaid;
Oh! be the ruffian hand relentless staid,
That would, instead of proving her defence,
Unhospitably drive her wretched hence.

But shall the Muse be backward to describe
The labours of the winter-dormant tribe?
No; let their police teach the human-kind,
That reason's not alone to man confin'd.
Presumptuous man! so arrogantly wise,
Proud of his high-born lineage from the skies!

One to some water speeds, and wets her wings,
Then on the dust the sprinkled moisture flings.
Another mixes it with self-taught skill,
Or bears the mortar on his loaded bill.

Bit upon bit, with nice proportion plac'd,
The mansion rises up in curious taste.
Each emulous the growing work surveys,
With ardent eye glanc'd round a thousand ways,
And with fond art, their labours to beguile,
Warbles in well-known twitters all the while.
The pensile sructure rear'd in outward form,
Cemented close, and firm against the storm,
To furnish it for kindly warmth within,
Another pleasing office they begin;
O'er spacious fields unwearied wing their flight,
Now lowly skim athwart, now gently light,
To seize the down some friendly thorn detains,
As left on purpose to reward their pains;
The straw, the fleecy moss, the silken hair,
Or feathers, lightly frisking in the air.
With these they finish their commodious dome,
Then, to relax, excursions make from home;
High in pure regions nearer to the sun,
Exulting, gay, their annual labour done;
Or o'er some lucid pond, or gliding stream,
Where insects hover in the setting beam.
Not long; the mother soon, by instinct led,
Returns to occupy her downy bed;

Nor ever till her brood, with cautious wings,
Taught and embolden'd first in feeble springs,
For liquid air their dark confinements change,
Idly abroad permits herself to range.

Now, from these mansions Friendship ever quits,
Where moaping gloom-brow'd Melancholy sits,
Distrust, Want, Ague, Avarice, and Care,
The miser steals, to breathe vertumnal air.
Mansions, through which few rays transmissive shoot,
Save from his chimney—seldom foul with soot,
Or greasy shatter'd lamp's uncertain light,
Kindled but in the dead opaque of night,
If, haply, he should lift his timid eye,
To see what thief, or sheet-cloth'd goblin's nigh;
A greater spectre he (beheld by few)
Were his lank form to bolt upon the view.
From all this dismal group of horrours dread,
Ghastly, as if just risen from the dead,
The niggard, whom no beauties else could charm,
No kindly passions, no soft transports warm;
Ventures abroad, with felon's sneaking pace,
To look his fellow-creatures in the face;
Almost afraid to act, as if akin,
Mov'd by some conscious principle within:

While all shrink back, with diffidence and scorn,
(As shepherds from the snake-infested thorn)
Thus acting on Humanity's own plan,
From such a monster in the form of man.
Though not one tender social tie that binds
Free gen'rous spirits, or ennobled minds,
His little heart, as marble hard to melt,
E'er for the period of a moment felt;
Yet now, howe'er repugnant to his plan,
Spring partly moulds and softens him to man.
Watching his wealth, by locks on locks secur'd,
Hunger and thirst in their extremes endur'd;
Or counting o'er, with still enhanc'd delight,
With harden'd fingers, and with aching sight,
His figur'd pieces (thus preserv'd from rust)
Of brighter-ting'd consolidated dust;
Winter beheld him, all benumm'd with cold,
Swath'd in a tatter'd blanket's scanty fold;
Beheld him, though surrounded with his pelf,
A poor and wither'd emblem of himself;
Squalid his beard, his skin to parchment shrunk,
Death-pale his visage, and his eye-balls sunk.
But now the tardy current in his veins,
Frozen erewhile, a brisker motion gains.

On his dull organs Spring's resistless pow'r
Acts—as on yonder reptile, yonder flow'r;
What motive, reason, choice, or will, we call,
(Man's privilege) alike deny'd to all.
Hail, Queen of Seasons! thine's the potent charm
Winter of all his rigour to disarm!
Hail, Queen of Seasons! thine's the magic art
To touch with life the Miser's torpid heart!
A task much harder than, with spells unknown,
To bend the oak, or mollify the stone.

In some wide area, now, or spacious green,
In social parties, nymphs and swains convene,
Elate in youth, with expectation flush,
And warm each cheek with health's carminian blush:
While, from the saffron chambers of the west,
The downward sun, ere he retires to rest,
Brightens his parting smile, well-pleas'd to see
Their mutual merriment, and harmless glee.
Through the brisk measures of the mazy dance,
They now, by turns, recede, and now advance;
Enliven'd by the hautboy's sprightly sound,
With nimble foot beat the enamel'd ground.
Changing in airy trip from side to side,
No graceful step, no attitude's untried,

To fix the notice of the glancing eye,
To paint the glow, or swell the conscious sigh.
Each fronts the blooming damsel he admires,
For whom he languishes in soft desires;
For whom the song's compos'd, the nose-gay drest,
To lose its beauties on he snowy breast;
For whom by tinkling rills he loves to stray,
Or through lone groves plod his sad dreary way;
For whom in nice repair the arbour's put,
And on the bark the dear initials cut:
The glance, smile, sigh, squeeze, whisper, leer, discover
The ardent, though the apprehensive lover;
While she, in vain, with much dissembled art,
Would hide the fond emotions of her heart;
Though ev'ry female stratagem she tries,
His eye soon penetrates the thin disguise.

From all the stiff formality of state,
The rights of kings, and factions of the great,
The senator, now parted from the throng,
Unbends his thoughts, intensely fix'd so long;
While Solitude his placid hours employs,
In learned ease to taste the noblest joys.
Now Recollection ushers into view,
Quick in her search, to her resemblence true,

A croud of glorious objects, dear to fame,
Which add distinguish'd lustre to his name:
His projects plann'd with wisdom and address,
Directed well, and honour'd with success,
Beyond the royal, or the public hope,
Give his enlarg'd reflections ample scope;
Swell his full heart with patriot triumphs known,
To Pitt, and some few kindred minds alone.
On such the Prince's royal favour smiles,
Whom no eye curses, and no tongue reviles.
On such, as more than popularly great,
The pray'rs and blessings of a kingdom wait.
Fair Liberty, with such fond to resort,
Leaves all the splendid circles of a court;
Virtue, on whom a nation's weal depends,
That skill which plans, and valour that defends;
Glory and Victory, illustrious pair,
To grace his recess, and his pleasures share.

But not enamour'd of the year alone
The grandee, by his crests armorial known;
The man of traffic too his toil remits,
And for a while his desk and counter quits;
To the calm scenes of rural ease repairs,
Purchas'd by a long train of anxious cares:

While birds with music his arrival greet,
And fields and groves exhibit ev'ry sweet;
Additionally bright each sun-beam shines,
To welcome him whom smoke so long confines,
Confines in the eternal quest of wealth,
Oft with the forfeiture of peace and health.

The shepherd now, o'er flowery lawns at large,
And richest pastures, tends his fleecy charge,
Pleas'd to behold, around their bleating dams,
In harmless frolic frisk the tender lambs;
His little social cur attending nigh,
To watch the flock with oft-reverted eye.
Upon some eminence he sits him down,
Undazzled by the splendour of a crown,
And hums, with untaught languishment of air,
Some sonnet on his not unconscious fair,
The buxon dame, that in the lilied vale
With milky nectar fills the balmy pail;
Or, by the grassy margin of a brook,
Stretches his listless length beside his crook;
Where willows flutter to the whisking wind,
And murmurs sooth to indolence his mind;
Where hawthorns swell, where honeysuckles wreathe,
And blossoms round perfum'd effluvias breathe.

Where lime-trees, from Noon's piercing glance to screen,
Throw over head a canopy of green.
Where linnets warble with melodious throats,
And finches chaunt their finely-quiver'd notes.
All to invite the ravish'd shepherd's stay,
Enhance his joys, nd drive his cares away.

Calmly delighted with the well-known haunt,
His breast disturb'd by no phantastic want,
Along the flowery herbage, far from noise,
Nature's pure guiltless pleasures he enjoys.
Pleasures, to share but equal with the clown,
Monarchs themselves might lay their sceptres down.
Here, no absurd ambition to be great,
To head a faction, or enslave a state;
No scheme of vengeance, no invidious plan,
To injure or deceive his fellow-man;
No daring project to obtrude his name
In Time's proud records, or the lists of Fame;
Set his licentious passions all on fire,
Distract his thoughts, or stimulate desire.
Far other objects occupy his time,
Which raise no tumult, and imply no crime.
While scarce resolv'd what grateful to prepare,
Or purchase, as a present for his fair;

Whether a brace of pigeons, white as snow,
Or burnish'd o'er with many a radiant glow;
Of osier twigs a basket curious wrought,
Or breast-knot at adjacent village bought,
Whose figure some apt love-device conceals,
On ev'ry sense a drousy languor steals.
Partly awake, yet partly slumb'ring too,
The landscape seems to swim before his view;
Till sleep, at length, to all beneath the skies,
In pleasing visions seals his weary eyes.
Visions, where he beholds his plighted maid
In all the florid charms of youth display'd;
Such charms as health and innocence bestow,
Beyond the toilet's artificial glow;
Beyond what boasted washes can impart,
The skin-deep varnish of cosmetic art.
Such charms as seldom grace the court-bred fair,
Though gems in constellations deck her hair;
Though round her airy trips the self-fond beau,
And coxcombs flutter on phantastic toe.
Such charms as amply recompense the swain,
Though unpossess'd (such triumphs to the vain)
Of gilded equipage, and titles proud,
To court the gaze and homage of the croud.

Rest on, unenvy'd shepherd! and partake
Those joys with-held from half the world awake,
But joys, when sleep her opiate balm denies,
Thy happier stars to thee shall realize;
For guilt alone in dreams such raptures knows,
As on his waking hours Heav'n ne'er bestows.

Now, long in torpid indolence confin'd,
Whilst Winter whistled in the northern wind,
The bees excursive seek the sunny field,
Where fresh-spread blooms the liquid honey yield.
But, form'd of mechanism most exact,
The waxen structure previous they erect.
Plann'd in a range of corresponding rooms,
Each architect a task apart assumes.
Some ascertain the wideness, some the length,
Some heave the burden with exerted strength.
Some see the fret-work combs appended right,
Some raise partitions to their proper height.
Some polish and elaborate the walls,
Some gather up what from the builder falls.
Some ever and anon, with outstretch'd wing,
The vegetable glue for cement bring.
With mathematic elegance of art,
The edifice complete in ev'ry part;

The parent bee, that over all presides,
In parties next the colony divides,
From bud to bud extracting sweets to roam,
Or joyous waft the luscious treasure home.
The powder'd daffodil's madescent spoils,
Renew'd by youthful suns and early soils;
The border-planted thyme's strong-scented dew,
Or fragrant hyacinth's, of ruby hue;
To form those sweets that melt upon the lip,
First of Spring's flow'rs court their enamour'd sip:
While numbers ready at the entrance stand
To lighten of their loads the homeward band;
Hence, in distinct divisions to be laid,
By others station'd farther in convey'd.
For all alike in just allotment share,
Delighted all, the profit and the care.
No time seems long, no drudgery they shun,
Once their appointed office is begun.
No flow'r the humid fatness that receives,
No blossom that expands its silken leaves,
Or in the garden's variegated beds,
Or where the purple heath luxuriant spreads;
But gratefully bestows its yellow spoil,
To freight their wings, and recompense their toil.

Within, the monarch, far from vulgar view,
Distinguish'd by his size, and burnish'd hue,
With royal eye the curious work inspects;
Here he adjusts, and yonder he directs;
Or, strolling out, or latent in the cells,
The drones, a lazy useless brood, expells.
Happy republic! where with steady aim,
(How few communities can boast the same?)
No discontented voice, no party-feud,
All ardently promote the general good.
How happy Albion, did her sons unite,
With blended counsels, and consociate might,
To fix, thus truly, venerably great,
The virtue, strength, and welfare of the State!
A conduct sure more glorious, than embrace
All creeds, all forms, all parties, for—a place;
No matter how our projects brought about,
If I but in, and but another out.

A thousand wishes, not to be express'd,
And soft desires, now warm the virgin-breast.
Wishes her utmost caution scarce conceals,
But all her manner undesign'd reveals.
The glass consulted oft, with graceful wile,
How to conduct the wafture of a smile;

The solitary turn, and pensive cast,
The keen sensation of the pointed jest;
The heaving bosom, and half-notic'd sigh,
The damask cheek, and languid-rolling eye;
The roving glance, and neck of ivory bare,
The loose attire, and negligence of air;
All modestly, without the aid of art,
Divulge the secrets of the female heart.

Beware, ye boast of workmanship divine!
Daughters of Beauty! darlings of the Nine!
Beware of Love's insinuating wiles,
Though he approach you with his softest smiles;
Though accents, mild as gales favonian blow,
From his bland tongue in smooth-turn'd period flow.
Oh! guard against the lightning of the eye,
Less fatal that which flashes from the sky.
There undisguis'd the soul's soft movements play,
Melt in a tear, or dazzle in a ray.
There Love erects his crystal engine, whence
He missive throws his weapons of offence;
His rapture-wing'd, or anguish-pointed darts,
With certain aim to reach unguarded hearts.
Better on headlong precipices dance,
Than meet the lambent eye's insidious glance.

With base intentions, couch'd in artful speech,
Now will the urchin flatter, now beseech.
A thousand modes of love-lorn style invent,
His faith, his truth, his love, to represent;
Hopes, wishes, doubts, and fears, a motly train,
That all together croud upon his brain;
While tears, obedient to the well-feign'd call,
Down his unmanly cheek officious fall.
But turn aside, meet not his pleading eyes,
Nor pity what you rather should despise.
His words a latent poison will convey,
The tempter speaks and looks, but to betray.
Beware then, fairest forms the sun surveys!
Beware of love! beware of vernal days!
Of the fam'd Ides , as ancient times record,
So warn'd the Augur Rome's victorious lord;
But Cæsar, not below himself to seem,
Disdain'd his life by caution to redeem,
And, proudly flush'd with fame too highly priz'd,
The divination as a dream despis'd;
Despis'd, and by the friend he lov'd so well,
Wrapt in his robe, a mighty victim fell.

But ye, whom Nature gently form'd to prove
The melting, soft, impassion'd soul of love,
Attend a moment to a friendly Muse,
Nor your inspiring smile meantime refuse,
While she describes the man, by Heav'n design'd
The finish'd counterpart of womankind.
Oh! were it no ideal picture sketch'd,
But from surrounding life and manners fetch'd.

The courteous Youth of modest worth prefer,
Whom sense convinces when his passions err.
Who knowledge ne'er esteems too early sought,
Nor wisdom at too high a purchase bought.
Of sweet deportment, unassuming air,
His manners gentle, as his soul sincere.
Who still concludes the best, and hopes the most,
An unsuspicious heart his constant boast.
Whom Prejudice, in her tyrannic chains,
That worst of servile thraldoms, ne'er detains,
If Reason, ever biass'd to the right,
Discover objects in a fairer light.
Who ne'er from sacred Truth in aught departs,
Above mean Adulation's paltry arts.
Not of superiour talents vainly proud,
Though to excel his opponent allow'd;

Nor, if addicted to an errour long,
Averse to own his judgment in the wrong.
Who can, though first in ev'ry youthful sport,
With hoary heads in grave harangue consort.
Not carried by the fashion to excess,
But elegantly careless in his dress.
Who can to men, in spheres exalted plac'd,
Suit his demeanour, and adapt his taste;
While those, to less superiour ranks confin'd,
Share his assistance and protection kind.
Who knows with spirit, when, and how, to act,
Though in vain boasts by female softness check'd.
Whom none with glaring faults or vices tax,
Born to protect, not to insult the sex.
Who gives to pelf its estimation due,
Though open-purs'd and hospitable too.
Deaf to Detraction's and Resentment's call,
Attach'd to few, although polite to all.
Beyond each sordid mercenary end,
Cautious to censure, backward to offend.
Who, delicate in word and thought alike,
Avoids the jest that doubly seems to strike.
To no dull set of rigid rules confin'd,
Which meanly setter, not enlarge the mind;

But acting on the more extensive plan
Of universal charity to man.
Who ne'er presumes his Maker's bolts to throw
On each he impotently deems his foe;
The little malice of a narrow heart,
That of the whole but comprehends a part.
Who hates in modes or trifles to be odd,
Scorns a vain oath, and ne'er blasphemes his God.
No tool of state, no Party's venal dupe,
To fear too honest, and too proud to stoop;
But, if his Country claim his proffer'd life,
Prepar'd to die in the illustrious strife.
Not elevated by a vague applause,
Which caprice utter'd, or disgust withdraws.
Whose eye with manly pity can o'erflow,
And heart be melted at another's wo.
In all his dealings scrupulously just,
Firm in his friendships, steady to his trust.
Neither in body or in mind diseas'd,
On pleasing bent, as wishing to be pleas'd.
If such a Youth, the glory of his kind,
Accomplish'd thus in person and in mind,
Approach you, with the tender voice of love,
Though all the herd of coxcombs fail to move,

Leave vain punctilios to the formal dame,
Nor blush to own an honourable flame.
For only with the man of these possess'd,
Can Arethusa be completely bless'd,
At least, as such alas! we seldom see,
Like him depainted, finish'd in degree;
Though Fortune, vain of her phantastic pow'r,
Propitious smil'd upon his natal hour;
Though pompous titles blazon forth his name,
And proud escutcheons tell from whence he came.
Riches from wants external may secure,
But cannot peace or happiness ensure.
Power, or force, may oft control the knee,
But never can the heart, by nature free.

The End of the Second Book.

Of March.

BOOK III.

Now Contemplation, mark'd with brow serene,
Fond of the cool retreat, and sylvan scene,
Science, and eagle-pinion'd Genius, fraught
With richest stores of elevated thought,
Abroad through Nature take their ample range,
Where objects infinite on objects change;
Where, to the eye of angels and of men,
Within belief, although beyond our ken,
Omnipotence exhibits ev'ry hour,
The mighty efforts of creative pow'r;
On each inscrib'd the dread eternal name,
Though silent all, proclaiming whence they came.
Here, to ennoble, and instruct mankind
In knowledge boundless as the godlike mind,
Each with sublime solicitude essays
To celebrate what soars above all praise!
That first supreme Intelligence, who spoke,
And light first-born from central darkness broke,
Whence beauty, order, grace, proportion, springs,
And all the fair variety of things!

Not to a system's scanty bourne confin'd,
With bolder flight, wing'd by the eastern wind,
Each launches out into transmundane space,
Where other orbs perform far other race;
Through constellations of unnumber'd stars,
Whose fix'd rotations no cross impulse mars;
Through radiant files of planets, each a world,
By hand divine in various orbits hurl'd:
Where beings, of superiour rank to men,
Inspir'd with higher intellectual ken,
Rejoice, no envy, obloquy, or strife,
In all the chaste delights of social life;
Bless'd with their Maker's presence, like the pair
That once breath'd Eden'd unpolluted air;
Immaculate from Guilt's opprobrious stain,
Uncheck'd by conscience, and untouch'd by pain;
Adorn'd with Beauty's sentimental grace,
No cares to cloud, no sorrows to efface.
His presence—not tremendous to confound,
Thick terrours inaccessible around;
Not overwhelming in the blaze of light,
Which angels view not with undazzled sight;
Nor deep amid night's sullen gloom conceal'd,
But in benignant majesty reveal'd.

For who would dare Almighty pow'r confine,
Stint Wisdom, or philanthropy divine,
That, far in ether's circumambient void,
Rais'd by a word, as by a breath destroy'd,
Each pond'rous orb on its proud axis spun,
To point its various regions to the sun;
Grac'd by its equipage of worlds around,
And compass'd wide by oceans without bound;
Though of his works most obvious to our view,
Nothing to what Omnipotence can do?

Oft, by too complex boundless scenes ingross'd,
In the bright maze of radiant wonders lost,
Fancy exhausted intermits her range,
Fond of gradations, or successive change;
O'er Earth's inchanting objects casts her glance,
Where simpler beauties smile at her advance,
Yet, as originally form'd for man,
Not perfect less in Heav'n's distinguish'd plan.

Now, when from climates far remote return'd,
Where late his lamp in mid-day glory burn'd,
The sun, collected in his softest light,
Pours his increasing splendours on the sight,
Love's melting thrill of transport to impart,
And chase the damps of sadness from the heart;

Now should we quit the silken bed of ease,
Where lengthen'd slumbers hurt us while they please,
Soon as the Dawn, fair harbinger of day,
Gilds the horizon with her early ray;
While Night's thick shades, before her sacred eye,
As fogs before the wind, disparted fly.

Now, Music calls from ev'ry bush, “Arise,
“The morning-star grows languid in the skies;
“Deeper the east ting'd with carnation glows,
“While you indulge in indolent repose;
“Arise, and ere his journey is begun,
“Be ready to salute the full-orb'd sun,
“The full-orb'd sun, set to a thousand eyes,
“Fond of his wonted visit to our skies;
“Pleas'd to behold an active world astir,
“Of Vice asham'd, and unenslav'd by her.”
Now ev'ry godlike faculty and pow'r,
Invigorated through the midnight hour,
When slumber's opiate finger clos'd the eyes,
Exults, expands, glows, and affects the skies.
Through depths of study, sciences sublime,
Motion, eternity, space, matter, time,
Unbounded now the vagrant fancy's caught,
In all the swift rapidity of thought.

How sweet to visit some sequester'd bow'r,
Or green recess, at this calm silent hour!
Some arching alley's melancholy shade,
Embroider'd meadow, or cool upland glade!
To wander thoughtful o'er the wide-stretch'd lawn,
Breathing the humid fragrance of the dawn!
Or from some airy hill's aspiring height,
Gilded with early beams of crimson light,
To mark the gradual slow approach of day,
And see how darkness gently fades away!
How ev'ry object rises to the view,
But dimly seen, wet with nocturnal dew!
Or fir'd by some enthusiastic page,
The envy, boast, and model of the age;
With genius, taste, and solid learning fraught,
To swell in conscious dignity of thought;
Triumphant borne on Faith's exulting wings,
Sceptres and thrones view'd as inferiour things,
To rise above earth's sublunary clime,
And think ourselves immortal for the time.
Or, when we shift our visionary plan,
Sink down apace, and dwindle into man;
Where crystal-pointed rocks, and caverns wide,
Responses quick return from side to side,

Soft, from the hautboy's modulated throat,
To swell the gentle, tender, thrilling note,
Symphonious with a croud of warblers round,
While distant hills return each pleasing sound.

Such entertainments, not to few confin'd,
But obvious to the bulk of humankind,
True bliss to man's capacious wish impart,
And wake the noblest feelings of the heart.
Such entertainments keep his thoughts aloof
From vice, that constant object of reproof;
Calm all his passions (the reverse a crime)
And leave no stupid vacuum in time;
Assist his hopes on wing of fire to rise,
And train him up an angel for the skies.

Now simple, various, regular throughout,
By a strong hedge of hawthorns fenc'd about,
The Olitory in fair prospect ies,
To drink the genial moisture of the skies;
Where herbs unnumber'd (patriarchal fare)
And roots their vegetable pulp prepare.
There all along the pleas'd observer walks,
Where artichokes erect their lusty stalks,
Maturing, to accommodate the board,
A dainty rich as culture can afford;

Yonder, with tendrils creeping through the mold,
Where cucumbers acquire their icy cold,
Furnish'd with gelid juices for the treat,
Amid the fervours of meridian heat.
No ostentatious group of radiant hues,
No gorgeous liv'ry here the florist views.
No odours evanescent hence exhale,
No dulcet dews to load the breathing gale.
Kind Nature here is busied to produce
Objects not form'd for pleasure, but for use.
Hail, Parent of creation! Friend of man!
How gracious, how benevolent's thy plan!
Through heav'n and earth's unmeasurable space,
Adapted to the season, and the place,
Thy hand is ever open'd to bestow,
Thy favours boundless as our wishes flow!

On yonder gentle elevation, whence
The checker'd prospect is beheld immense,
With tincts and pencil ready in his hand,
The painter occupies his airy stand;
While Light's mild setting ray, no veil behind,
Gilds each alluring object to his mind.
Now to the laughing mead, or verdant hill,
He glances round, still charm'd, delighted still,

Where herds regale on herbage to their wish,
And rosy milk-maids heap the fragrant dish;
Now to the hamlet, at some distance seen,
Embosom'd in a knot of beeches green;
Or steeple glitt'ring to the pointed ray,
Or mighty ruin leaning to decay;
Next to some giddy rock's projecting height,
Pendent o'er caverns dark as tenfold night;
Or lofty bridge, whose ample arches stride
Unmov'd o'er some fam'd river's rapid tide:
Nor does the shepherd, with his trusty cur,
Nor ploughman, as he turns the slanting fur,
Nor avenue, nor vista, plac'd beside
Some grandee's seat, the boast of titled pride;
Nor colonnade, with Doric figures grac'd,
Nor glass-roof'd stove in warmth congenial plac'd;
Nor obelisk, whose Parian columns rise
Magnificently towering to the skies;
Nor temple built on some majestic height,
To terminate the boundaries of sight;
Nor angler playing his fictitious fly,
Nor woodland hind, elude his curious eye.

Now finish'd out in blended light and shade,
First it, and then the landscape is survey'd;

Alternate, lest some slighter fault escape,
In site, in colour, symmetry, or shape.
The strict review, repeated o'er and o'er,
Serves only to enhance his joy the more.
Pleas'd with the nice precision of his art,
He marks the semblance just in ev'ry part,
Delighted in such narrow bounds to bring
The choicest beauties of the full-blown Spring.

Nor shall Ardelia, in yon arch'd alcove,
Espalier-walk, or vista-open'd grove,
From empty Life's impertinence retir'd,
Pass her sequester'd moments unadmir'd.
There, on a sofa of sweet-scented flow'rs,
While Spring seems to prolong the soften'd hours,
With deep attention, and enraptur'd look,
Curious she pores on some applauded book,
Which genius animates, which sancy fires,
Knowledge enriches, and chaste wit inspires.
Or thoughtful muses through the solemn shade,
Which no rude sounds or hostile steps invade.
Far from the haunts of Faction and of Pride,
Where Peace and Friendship, sisters twain, reside.
Far from the glance of Envy, pale as death,
Censure's bold tongue, and Slander's baneful breath.

Where, tir'd with kings and parasites to mix,
Delighted their abode the Muses fix;
Seldom to such inspiring glooms pursu'd,
In solitudes by mortals seldom woo'd.
Where Melancholy's pensive train resort,
And Meditation holds her silent court;
Frequented, not by Passion's headstrong band,
With flames or pointed daggers in their hand;
But by each Virtue, gentle, modest, kind,
Chaste inmate of the heav'n-attemper'd mind.
Hither, to shun the scorching noontide ray,
Ever with such associates fond to stray,
Ardelia steals with transport from the throng,
Where Mode and Int'rest settle right and wrong;
Where Self, though often in a fair disguise,
Her sordid arts is licens'd to practise;
Where but a few avow, and that by stealth,
The love of virtue, or contempt of wealth:
While Folly laughs contemptuous at the man,
Whose views extend beyond the present span,
Who, from fix'd motives, not a transient mood,
Dares nobly to be singularly good;
For tyrant Fashion makes more errant fools,
Who err by method, and offend by rules,

Than who, from heedless levity within,
Or from direct intention, grossly sin.

While in one airy, vain, phantastic round,
With Folly's many-colour'd garland crown'd,
Flavilla lightly trifles time away,
Her sole sublime ambition to be gay;
To place a brilliant, or a patch dispose,
Lest greater taste admir'd Aminta shows;
To run through, on the celebrated tour,
Civility's whole science in an hour;
To boast a set of coxcombs at her call,
Shine at a play, or flutter at a ball;
At cards display her masculine address,
Her ardour doubled, as her fortune less:
While thus Flavilla learns the modern art,
From all her native softness to depart;
That female dignity which only can
Secure the right of conquest over men;
Ardelia, though the first of woman-kind,
Alike for charms of person as of mind;
Whom birth ennobles, Fortune greatly lifts
Above the Sex by her peculiar gifts;
To whose kind lot no common talents fall,
Admir'd, respected, and belov'd by all;

On Virtue much her ravish'd thoughts employs,
And much partakes of her unenvy'd joys,
Never, a partial boast almost her own,
More throngly occupied than when alone:
While zephyrs through the flaunting woodbines stray,
As if in whispers their devoirs to pay;
And overhead a choir of warblers sing,
In sweetest strains, hers, and the charms of Spring.

Nor wonder Virtue rivets her respect,
While riches are beheld with fix'd neglect;
For Taste and Self appear on Virtue's side,
At once preserve our interests and our pride.
The more true virtue we admire and love,
Pleasing the more Spring's beauteous objects prove.
In loving her what heights soe'er we gain,
Insolvents still to Virtue we remain.
For chiefly to the man, whate'er he be,
Of rank pre-eminent, or mean degree,
Who, taught in Reason's, not the Stoic's school,
Keeps all his various passions under rule;
Guards against future errours, mends the past,
And lives each day as if decreed his last;
Spring is the source, where-e'er he turns his view,
Of pleasures ever exquisite, and new;

Ambitious still to entertain the man,
Who nobly acts on so sublime a plan;
A plan, laid down by Virtue for her sons,
Which parallel with life immortal runs.

In ev'ry place an elegance he finds,
Unnotic'd, unadmir'd, by vulgar minds;
Unmark'd by Study's microscopic eye,
That boasts such hidden wonders she can spy,
Grand in effect, as in design immense,
Beyond dull Vision's unassisted sense.
The charms of structure, symmetry, and hue,
So valu'd by the philosophic few,
Are but a part (let kings with clowns condole)
Of the divinely-complicated Whole.
Newton, superiour to the herd of men,
As, to a mortal's, is an angel's ken,
Fathom'd Heav'n's depths unmeasurably far,
Balanc'd in its bright orbit ev'ry star;
And hence, in full magnificence of proof,
While infidels, astonish'd, stood aloof,
Deduc'd one first, supreme, almighty Cause,
Acting by stated and eternal laws.
But Virtue's son, though Learning's paths untrod,
In ev'ry common instance finds a God.

Finds Him, and with the raptures of a Young,
When strains of Paradise flow'd from his tongue,
(In Night's deep ear yet swell the plaintive lays)
Rises to all the ecstasy of praise.

He, with a title monarchs dare not claim,
Unbounded views the Universal Frame,
And, while his knees their prompt devotions pay,
With humble confidence can boldly say,
“For me the curtains of the sky were spread,
“And sun, and moon, and stars in glory clad.
“For me, while seraphims exulting sung,
“In ambient air Earth's mighty orb was hung.
“For me, the Seasons roll the mystic round,
“In ev'ry change peculiar blessings found;
“While grateful clouds drop fatness on the plain,
“In lucid dew-drops, or in show'rs of rain.
“For me, by sapient laws supremely right,
“Alternately succeed the Day and Night.
“For me, mild zephyrs cool the noon-tide heat,
“And savages to forest-glooms retreat.
“For me, while inoffensive lightnings glow,
“Loud thunders break, and winds tumultuous blow,
“To purge the vital fluid of the air.
“Lest fogs and foul infections harbour there.

“For me the hills with gentle slope ascend,
“And verdure-painted vales beneath extend;
“While gurgling rills in fluid crystal glide,
“And cattle feast on Nature's flowery pride.
“For me, secure from Want's increas'd alarm,
“Beauty and Plenty spread their ev'ry charm;
“To touch the springs of Transport various ways,
“Or court the studious eye's elab'rate gaze.
“For me, aloft the groves umbrageous shoot,
“And ripen'd orchards bend with mellow fruit,
“Where all the gay musicians of the Spring
“From care and sorrow their exemption sing.
“For me, the Deep's illimitable space
“Swarms with its millions of the finny race.
“For me, the mountain, in its precious veins,
“Masses matur'd of ductile ore contains,
“Or marble, boasted monument of fame,
“To bear some mighty Hero's sculptur'd name.
“For me, the diamond sparkles on the rock,
“And coral blushes on its parent stock.
“For me the jonquil elegantly blooms,
“And roses lavish round their soft perfumes.
“For me, the bees through scented blossoms stray,
“And sip their aromatic breath away.

“For me, the injur'd fibre to renew,
“The healing plant distills its lenient dew.
“For me, the vine's impurpled cluster swells,
“And juicy melons fill their turgid cells.”

But small were his possessions, if confin'd
To blessings offer'd to all human kind.
With less contracted amplitude of thought,
With expectations more sublimely fraught,
Thus may his heart dilate, his bosom glow,
Thus his full raptures in big utt'rance flow;
“When earth and skies to nothing shall decay,
“And in their orbits planets melt away;
“When Time, coeval with yon radiant sun,
“His sand-glass of a thousand ages run,
“Shall to Eternity his charge resign,
“And worlds adjudg'd surround the bar divine;
“For me, with gods and angels to be shar'd,
“A state of bliss and glory is prepar'd,
“Vast as my boundless wishes can extend,
“And lasting, like my being, without end.”

But see, what gentle objects court us hence,
And spread their charms to captivate each sense.
Shall we the pleasing summons disobey?
What half so sweet, so elegant as they!

The End of the Third Book.

BOOK IV.

Now in the broad parterre, or terrace-walk,
Of various odour, drapery, and stalk,
By stated turns the flowery tribes arise,
Mantled in livery of a thousand dyes.
For not to one too partial Nature fix'd,
In colours with her choicest pencil mix'd,
As months advance, alternate they display
Their virgin beauties to the blushing ray;
While all the watchful Florist's ceaseless care
With indiscriminating favour share.

Some round he shelters from intrusive cold,
And borders with warm earth of fertile mold.
Careful he marks, lest some mishap befalls,
Where the rude insect lights, or reptile crawls;
Where moles, to discompose his plots around,
Run darkling their slant paths along the ground;
Checks timely those that too luxuriant spread,
And clears of noxious weeds the fragrant bed.
Nor do what others lighter trifles deem,
Such to the Florist's ready caution seem.
Some he disposes in a fairer view,
To heighten or their attitude or hue.

On some, that love to drink in frequent show'rs,
In drops effusive he the moisture pours.
Some on supports he gently makes to rest,
Or by their stature or their bulk opprest.
From those removes each intervening screen,
That more affect in sunshine to be seen.
Then, with fond look and intermingled smile,
His heart with rapture thrilling all the while,
His finely-varied fam'ly he surveys,
Not without some self-arrogated praise.
Struck with the elegance of Art, that more
Pleases, as oft examin'd o'er and o'er.
Struck too with Nature's easy soft address,
Beauty's flush'd touch, and Wisdom's fine impress;
Whence infinite diversities we view
Of conformation, foliage, and of hue;
No narrow limits, or to skill divine,
The charms of form, or wonders of design.

One all in snowy white itself attires,
Another the deep indigo admires.
Some clothe in royal purple to be seen,
Some full imbibe the em'rald's vivid green.
Others apart their silken leaves unfold,
Finely bedropt with crimson, or with gold.

While numbers in the sapphire's lighter blue,
Ethereal tincture, sip the trickling dew.
Vainly would Art each soft gradation trace,
Much less improve, or add one single grace.

But not distinguish'd by their tints alone,
What sumptuous taste in their apparel shown!
Some dress themselves in suits of stiff brocade,
And some in figur'd lutstring are array'd.
Yonder a tribe of beauties, lately blown,
Flaunt in loose tissue mantles round them thrown.
And here arrang'd another class select
Court our approach, in clouded velvet deck'd.
While some, to decorate the splendid year,
In satin robes of costly gloss appear.
All, all is neatness, delicacy, taste,
Nothing deficient left, yet nothing waste!
Nature form'd each in her peculiar way,
With her own pencil painted them so gay;
In silks attir'd them wove in her own loom,
And on them copious breath'd her own perfume.

See! by the Season's mild return inspir'd,
To rapt'rous heights of contemplation fir'd,
With grand ideas, bold conceptions fraught,
To the third Heav'ns, like him of Tarsus, caught;

The Poet to some consecrated shade,
Form'd to awake the fancy and to aid,
Retires from all the little cares of Life,
Its sordid pleasures, and ignoble strife;
A world within himself, without its train
Of Hydra evils, guilt, remorse, and pain.

The fresh-blown beauties of the bright-ey'd May,
That blush beneath the sun's enamour'd ray;
The murmuring brook, that down from rocky hills
In fluid silver copiously distills;
The orangery ting'd with ruddy gold,
In glass apartments shelter'd from the cold;
The flowery meadow stretch'd in fair extent,
The forest-nodding mountain's steep ascent;
The grove's adjusted rows, that waving rise
In leafy pomp majestic to the skies,
Concealing, from broad Noon's officious glow,
A thousand tender scenes that pass below;
The garden's gravel'd walks, and order'd beds,
Where flow'rs successive lift their painted heads;
Amongst unnumber'd objects, each surpass'd
In drapery and structure by the last,
Beneath his magic pencil charm anew,
With graces superadded to the view.

Oft-times, by subjects more august inflam'd,
He sings of monarchs and of heroes fam'd;
Of patriots steady in their Country's cause,
The mighty bulwarks of its rights and laws;
Such heroes, kings, and patriots, as maintain
Albion unrival'd empress of the main;
Steals from the annals of each distant age,
(A theft how glorious!) to enrich his page,
The genius, learning, virtues, taste, and fire,
Which men by instinct catch, while they admire;
And, into various lights and graces thrown,
With just selection, makes them all his own.
As in a breathing wilderness of flow'rs,
Relax'd by heat, and moist with new-fall'n show'rs,
From bloom to bloom the bee industrious flies,
Sips its choice sweets, and loads its little thighs.

Love, kind affection, still innately fraught
With candour, truth, and elegance of thought,
With ev'ry soft refinement of desire,
Sets his according numbers next on fire.
Through all its doubts, perplexities, and cares,
Or when it hopes, or wishes, or despairs;
Its quick disgusts, its pride, and pert disdain,
To meekness and submission turn'd again;

He traces out the Passion's pleasing wo,
With ev'ry aid Invention can bestow:
And while he sings, in heart-affecting strains,
Haply the tyrant in his bosom reigns.
Haply, he feels (his lines the secret tell)
Each soft sensation he describes so well,
That sympathy ineffable, which binds
Concordant tempers, and congenial minds.
Else, whence the clouded brow, the tear-swoln eye,
The look disconsolate, and bursting sigh?
Why, else, to melancholy musings prone?
Whence so solicitous to be alone?
Elated now, now sunk beyond relief?
Cheeks flush'd with rapture, or suffus'd in grief?

But chiefly, when his Maker's glorious praise
Fires his rapt muse, and claims superiour lays,
Sublime he soars, above the vulgar throng,
In all the conscious majesty of song.
Faith's beatific views, Ambition's aim,
Devotion's raptures, Love's seraphic flame,
The flights of Genius, depths of Thought profound,
The pomp of Style, and harmony of Sound;
Now all conspire (but all how far below
The mighty Theme!) to make his numbers glow.

Paternal Deity! Creator wise!
His footstool earth, eternal throne the skies!
Who walks serene upon the tempests' wing,
And lifts the islands as the smallest thing!
In scales the everlasting mountains weighs,
And holds in hollow of his hand the seas!
Light like a dazzling garment round him spread,
And awful darkness his pavilion dread!
His voice the triple thunder of the sky!
Lightning the vivid flashes of his eye!
Earthquakes, convulsing Nature's frame abroad,
The angry stamps of an offended God!
What language not immortal can define
Essential glory! majesty divine!

These give unsully'd lustre to the year,
And make the Spring so exquisite appear,
Else one unbounded, one unlovely waste,
Each beauteous object fled, each charm defac'd.
These undiminish'd in the Godhead shone,
Ador'd by angels circling round the throne,
Ere Man arose from animated dust,
Benign his aspect, as his form august;
And shall, completed Heav'n's immense design,
The wonder of new worlds eternal shine.

But, after Fancy's eagle-flights were o'er,
And heav'n-illumin'd Genius could no more;
Thus, conscious all his best essays how vain,
Might the rapt bard conclude his humble strain.
“O great Original of life, and good,
“And excellence! how little understood!
“From first to last unchangeably the same!
“I AM—thy dread unutterable name!
“Eternal King of kings! Almighty Pow'r!
“On whom depends Creation ev'ry hour,
“Depends for support, beauty, order, life,
“Else one vast scene of elemental strife!
“Oh! pardon (angels fail alike with me)
“This impotent attempt to sing of Thee!
“How shall a worm Omnipotence address;
“Range its confin'd ideas, or express?
“To Thee can languid mortal praise extend?
“Or infinite thought finite comprehend?
“Yet, though retir'd on high from human sight
“In mansions unapproachable of light;
“Though angels thy creative footsteps trace
“Through all the vast immensity of space;
“If Majesty Supreme can stoop so low,
“Or on a worthless worm a look bestow;

“Oh be Thou ever, merciful and kind,
“As Virtue finds Thee, present to my mind;
“From sudden weighty trials to secure,
“Which Nature is too feeble to endure;
“Or, if permitted, that, without a tear,
“Reason assisted may their pressure bear.
“To Thee, before the first approach of light,
“Dispels the congregated gloom of night,
“Or welcome slumbers close my willing eyes,
“May, like pure incense, my devotions rise.
“If Fortune her proud favours should bestow,
“And life's full cup with blessings overflow;
“In Thee alone may I expect to find
“An equable and unelated mind.
“But if Heav'n's boon is a depress'd estate,
“And poverty is my appointed fate;
“May the pert tongue of Discontent refrain,
“If it would boldly venture to complain.

“To Thee, when my unwary footstep strays
“In Guilt's broad path, or Errour's dubious maze,
“May I with sudden recollection look,
“Though to receive the timely sharp rebuke.
“Oh! led amid the gloom by Wisdom's ray,
“Soon, wand'ring, may I find the better way.

“In each condition, ev'ry change below,
“May I the end and motive learn to know;
“The measure just, and consequence of things,
“What flows from Prudence, what from Folly springs;
“Thy sapient distributions still in view,
“To give Thee all the glory that is due.
“If Prejudices rule with tyrant sway,
“Teach them the voice of Reason to obey.
“If Passion domineers with wild uproar,
“Speak, and again the Mind's lost peace restore,
“To Thee, when sickness or distress draw nigh.
“May I direct my help-imploring eye,
“When all the boasted remedies of Art,
“And friends themselves, in vain their aid impart:
“And O! at that, perhaps not distant, hour,
“When Health, impair'd in ev'ry active pow'r.
“In the last spark of animation flits,
“Glows out afresh, and languishes by fits;

“When by a thread all human safety hangs,
“And thought anticipates Life's parting pangs;
“Father of mercy! graciously impart
“Solace and comfort to my drooping heart!
“In Thee Supreme, sole Conquerour of death,
“O may I triumph with my latest breath!”

How fitted, Spring, thy objects to impart
Virtue's sublimest feelings to the heart!
To elevate our hopes and wishes hence,
And give a moral poignance to the sense!
Religion, while she treads thy paths of flow'rs,
Or in still glooms with Thee protracts the hours,
Or where thy streamlets in meanders flow,
Tastes those delights the world can ne'er bestow.
The breast enthusiastic rapture fires,
Something unknown prompts our enlarg'd desires;
Quick on the wing of lightning Fancy's caught,
Big images of things expand the thought;
Unheard of wealth Imagination counts,
Her pinnacle of fame Ambition mounts;
We speak and look, as more than mortal men;
Soar with an angel's eye, an angel's ken;
When, gentle Spring, the magic of thy scenes
Arrests the eye, and thrills along our veins.

Who can behold Earth's beauteous offsprings round,
See soft returning verdure clothe the ground,
Hear jocund music warble from each spray,
And mark the glories of the god of day,
Nor find his bosom fir'd, his thoughts alert,
Him niggard Nature form'd without a heart,
Such ne'er improves on Education's plan,
Though more than brutes, still something less than man.
But hush—no satire shall our page deform,
Spring's gentle reign but seldom knows a storm.
Who would from her fair landscapes lift his eye,
A dunghill, or its tenant worm, to spy?
Let the harsh pen be emptied of its gall,
Spring now but sweets and dews permits to fall.

O bear me, Fancy, on thy fleet-wing'd car,
To climes unknown, to regions distant far,
Where vertical the sun his pow'r displays,
Thron'd in refulgent majesty of blaze.
Where Beauty her more splendid form assumes,
And universal Spring eternal blooms.
Where, nourish'd by earth's rich-concocted sap,
While busy Science fills her outspread lap,
Annual, the plant, the balmy herb's renew'd,
With sov'reign virtues variously endu'd.

Where rivers, famous in immortal song,
On golden sands transparent glide along;
Whose lofty banks, by woods pomacious grac'd,
Blush with rich fruit, high-flavour'd to the taste.
Where unctuous shrubs, and honey-dropping trees,
And liquid gums, scent the favonian breeze,
Where orange-loaded forests deeply glow,
Spice-bearing groves, and citron orchards blow.
Where, through the sunk recesses of the mine,
Metals, for ages hid, resplendent shine,
The virgin silver, of no vulgar pore,
And gold's more highly-estimated ore.
Where purple rubies flame in common stone,
And diamonds, destin'd for some monarch's throne,
Pure harden'd ether, light's concenter'd rays,
Or singly sparkle, or in clusters blaze.

But what avail their temp'rature of skies,
And fertile lawns, where fruits spontaneous rise?
Their myrtle shades, and vales adorn'd with flow'rs,
Elysian walks, and amaranthine bow'rs?
There Accidents put on a thousand forms,
Diseases, famine, plague, vulcanos, storms.
There Sickness takes her periodic range,
While Generations ev'ry lustrum change;

Endless Diseases croud her ghastly train,
In languor sunk, or agoniz'd with pain;
Consumption, with emaciated look,
And pale-lipp'd Ague like an aspen shook.
There Tyranny, curs'd with imperial sway,
Beholds his millions abjectly obey;
The titled peer, with his domestic clown,
Alike beneath the terrour of his frown.
There Earthquakes, while dread Nature makes a pause,
Open enormous their expanded jaws,
The superb temple, and the regal tow'r,
Buried beneath, in one devoted hour.
There Pestilence blows round her tainted breath,
And riots in the horrid feast of death;
Cuts off alike the grandee with his slave,
And makes whole towns and provinces a grave.
There the vast Wild unhospitable glooms,
Where brutal life each dreaded form assumes;
Where savages in furious pastime play,
Or strew with carnage their insanguin'd way.
There, brooding long portentous o'er the deep,
Frequent abroad impetuous Whirlwinds sweep,
While lightnings in excessive flashes glare,
And smells sulphureous taint the fiery air,

Thunders round rattle formidably loud,
And torrents burst from each distended cloud.
There, laying waste the labours of an age,
The gorg'd Vulcano gathers all its rage;
Or vomits forth, in seas of melted ore,
Earth's glowing entrails, with explosive roar,
Masses of pitch, rocks subterranean broke
In molten fragments, wrapt in flame and smoke.
Why then abroad stretch Fancy's eagle-wing,
Flush'd by the vital spirit of the Spring,
When homeward, no such terrours to alarm,
Suns milder shine, and fairer prospects charm?
When blessings of a more substantial kind,
But by our wishes and our hopes confin'd,
Each comfort that to sweeten life can tend,
On ev'ry Season's grateful wing descend.

Rather on Albion's celebrated coast,
The boast of nations, as fair Freedom's boast,
Which rocks in hostile range surround immense,
Nature's own ramparts rais'd for her defence;
Of healthful air, and cultivated soil,
Where no fell pontifs threat, nor tyrants spoil;
Which oceans from the Continent divide,
Let me in bless'd security reside;

To fur-clad Indians, Heav'n's sole boon to them,
Left the resplendent ore, and costly gem.

Religion, here, with mercy-beaming eyes,
As when she came a seraph from the skies;
Virtue, that such desert reflects on man,
His arduous course of destin'd trial ran;
White-mantled Peace, that hates the bloody scene,
And Liberty, in sweet conjunction, reign.
Here darling Property's to all ensur'd,
By public faith inviolate secur'd,
While each, as fancy, taste, or ease incline,
Sits underneath his own embow'ring vine.
Here, equal with his lord's, the vassal's cause
Enjoys the naked sentence of the laws,
While royal favour flows alike to all,
At Virtue's suffrage, or at Merit's call.
Better the meanest cottager, if free,
Than the proud riban'd slave of high degree.
Here Plenty opens her delighted hand,
And scatters wide her favours round the land;
The farm-toil'd Peasant happy with his lot,
His garden-viands, and his low-roof'd cot;
As in their purple robes, and chairs of state,
The birth-ennobled, splendour-circled Great.

Boundless as Nature, yet confin'd by rule,
Here godlike Science founds her liberal school;
Ravish'd beholds her fame-enraptur'd sons,
Along whose veins the stream of genius runs,
On wing excursive their bold flights pursue,
And with a glance look all Creation through.
Here Art, in her own native climate, thrives,
Art, that but seldom Freedom's fall survives;
Sees here, her busy millions plac'd around,
With great success her vast inventions crown'd;
Life polish'd, manners soften'd and refin'd,
And by degrees enlarg'd the human mind.
Here Commerce lavishes her choicest stores,
The prime productions of remotest shores;
No gentle gale distends the sheet unfurl'd,
But wafts her all the treasures of a world.
And here the Muses, with their gentle train,
That in soft melting Elegy complain,
Or rise to Epic, by Fame's nearest road,
Take up with kings and heroes their abode.

Hail, Seat of empire! mighty Albion, hail!
Still may thy cause, and Liberty's, prevail.
Still may thy fleets, the barriers of thine isle,
While breezes waft, and suns auspicious smile,

Beat back Ambition to her native home,
As yonder surge retires in empty foam.
And still may one of Brunswick's princely line
Be both the darling of mankind, and thine,
Till hoary Time himself, surviving all,
Subdu'd, on his own broken sithe shall fall.
—But scenes of sport now call the Muse away,
Too much indulging the digressive lay.

On yonder beaten tract, the village-swains,
In strength robust, with youth distent their veins,
While looks elate their various hopes proclaim,
Croud from all quarters, candidates for fame.
With Herculean sweepy whirl they throw,
The pond'rous hammer, or the iron crow;
With vigorous arm fling light the massy stone,
Diversions fit for British youths alone;
Pop the well-rounded quoit with dextrous pitch,
Run the swift race, or leap the custom'd ditch:
Each emulous, as if his all at stake,
To gain the contest, or the lead to take.
Ambition's not restricted to a crown,
Kings have it but in common with a clown.

Some, not detain'd enervate at the side,
Plunge in the closing pool's translucent tide.

Forward, incumbent on the clear expanse,
With arms extended fearless they advance;
While, at each sturdy stroke, in vapoury light,
The tumid wave breaks refluent on the sight:
Or down some avenue's protracted length,
With practis'd sweep, and full-exerted strength,
Each fellow'd with his brawny-limb'd compeer,
The glowing bullet roll in fleet career:
Others, as kings of old us'd to contend,
With happy aim the bow elastic bend,
While forth impell'd the rapid arrow springs,
And whizzes up on well-proportion'd wings.

These are the Season's periodic sports,
Here Health, with all her florid train, resorts;
Here pale Consumption's wasted form's ne'er seen,
The Gout, Catarrh, the Gravel, or the Spleen.
Here all in native gaiety appear,
A temper sympathetic with the Year.
Such are the exercises that bestow
The strong-brac'd sinew, and the ruddy glow;
Lengthen, with blessings fraught, the narrow span
That circumscribes the stated life of man;
Blessings, when, haply, men their loss deplore,
But Heav'n, and Whytt, and Temp'rance can restore.

Blessings, alone by active Virtue won,
From hardy sire transmitted to his son.

Such scenes of tranquil life, and rural ease,
Such scenes, in their own nature form'd to please,
Immortal poets sung, renown'd of old,
In happy ages fondly styl'd of gold;
When men their blissful hours in vineyards spent,
With Nature's unextorted gifts content;
Ere Rapine and Oppression warn'd mankind,
In common league, for common good, combin'd,
To delegate to one imperial sway,
Whom all with willing suffrage should obey.
Such scenes, by ev'ry mild and gentle art,
To all the finer feelings mould the heart;
Add swiftness to Time's care-retarded wing,
And give a native elegance to Spring.
Teach that instructive lesson, seldom known,
Though in importance it outweighs a throne,
That Happiness basks not in Fortune's blaze,
Nor to the Great her ready visit pays;
But with the shepherd shares the lowly cot,
How simple, how obscure, regarded not.
Blush, ye that boast a garter or a star,
Behold a peasant, more ennobled far.

Well might a tear the Grecian hero shed,
To dim the starry circlet round his head,
For, short of happiness, he knew no rest,
Though he a world in proud survey possest.

Hail! Happiness, fair native of the skies!
What is it thy celestial name implies?
Is it for wise, for excellent to pass,
Or heaps of useless riches to amass?
Is it to live in ease, exempt from care?
A haughty monarch's partial smile to share?
Is it to flutter with a titled name,
Or swell elated by a breath of fame?
Is it to range through Nature's boundless space,
The endless laws of Gravity to trace?
Studious o'er books with midnight lamp to pore,
And Learning's age collected funds explore?
Is it to weep at Pity's soft command?
Or stretch forth Charity's assistant hand?
Is it a form, with ev'ry beauty grac'd?
A set of features, regularly plac'd?
Is it a temper's accidental cast?
A heart by Nature's finest touch imprest?
Is it the spirits mov'd in brisker flow,
And softly agitated to and fro?

Is it Life's salient springs adjusted right,
And wound up gently to a certain height?
No; to the foul opprobrium of mankind,
Thy sacred name remains yet undefin'd.
Nought that results from an external cause,
Which chance bestows, or accident withdraws;
Nought to a rank confin'd, in fame or gain,
Which few can merit, fewer far obtain;
But what, as dews from heav'n promiscuous fall,
Flows in a constant equal tide to all,
To all alike, that govern, or obey,
Of Thee a just idea can convey.
Let then fantastic Lovers dream no more,
And all their schemes Philosophers give o'er:
An humble spirit, a contented mind,
To ill, by choice, averse, to good inclin'd,
In ev'ry change of circumstance the same;
Comprise in apt epitome thy name.

The End of the Fourth Book.

Let the reader be here informed, once for all, that nothing is meant by Fortune, in this or any other place, but such a crisis or revolution in human affairs, or in the circumstances of individuals, as seems immediately to result from the mere solly, caprice, and passions of mankind. In this sense the word Fortune, so often, and so indiscriminately used by authors, happily enough supplies the place of a tedious circumlocution.

BOOK V.

Now swells the full-grown orchard on the sight,
O'erspread with blossoms delicately white;
Or streak'd with crimson's richly-painted dye,
With saffron tinct, or glow of evening-sky:
A wilderness of soft perfumes, more sweet
Than in Arabia's gummy forests meet;
Than what the sun's prolific ray exhales
From spicy groves, and fragrant Indian vales.

Here pear-trees in capacious shade extend,
Soon with their juicy progeny to bend.
On lofty branches there, luxuriant spread,
The apple shows its cheeks of burnish'd red.
Along that wall, the apricote and peach
Bask in the heat, and soften to the reach;
And yonder plums, turgescent to the view,
Fatten their luscious flesh of cloudy blue.

How deep, how solemn spreads each tree around,
Bent in a thousand arches to the ground!
Mingling their branches in diffusive shade,
Scarce can Noon's brightest glance the gloom pervade.

How comes the sadly-pensive mood unsought!
How melancholy steals upon the thought!
Who can the half-spontaneous sigh refuse?
Who can resist the urgent call to muse?
When we would thrones and diadems despise,
And on all human grandeur shut our eyes;
Peep at Eternity from Time's dark brink,
Converse like angels, and like angels think;
Better and wiser when we wish to be,
From endless trials, snares, and follies free;
To such Retirements, with becoming awe,
Oft let us from a guilty world withdraw.

Here might some Bard, whose hopes immortal tow'r
Above the poor possessions of an hour,
By Faith's sublime enthusiasm fir'd,
And long of Life's unmeaning sameness tir'd;
Thus, with each thought on happiness intent,
Might he indulge his soul's enamour'd bent.
“Oh could I, Happiness! seraphic maid,
“To whom the universal vow is paid!
“With Thee retire to this sequester'd spot,
“By all, save by a faithful friend, forgot;
“A friend, whose joyous countenance and smile
“Can soften care, and pain itself beguile!

“Through solitude diffuse a cheerful ray,
“And gild those glooms unvisited by day;
“Not Siren Pleasure, with her fair pretence,
“Nor Fame, nor Grandeur, should allure me hence.
“Science should teach me all her sacred lore,
“And with me Fancy on her pinion soar.
“Study exhaust each genius-kindled page,
“The treasures and researches of an age.
“Sweet Meditation, heav'n-descended maid,
“Should lead me through each solitary shade;
“Of thought intranc'd ecstatic flights inspire,
“And with her transports set my soul on fire.
“Beneath the spread of some romantic tree,
“(All places, cherub! are alike to thee)
“Where the fond bee with tube inserted clings,
“Or buzzes round on deeply-loaded wings;
“Where grasshoppers chirp their incessant note,
“And the lone robin strains her mournful throat;
“On Nature's verdant lap, should balmy sleep
“Each willing sense in soft oblivion steep,
“Brought gently on (a boast unknown to Wealth)
“And render'd sound, by exercise and health:
“While zephyrs scatter odours from their wings,
“The sweets quintescent of each flow'r that springs;

“While Twilight draws her sable curtain round,
“And Silence guards the consecrated ground.
“Peace should conclude the day, as it began,
“And Virtue form the angel on the man.
“Each hour to Heav'n should bear some fond request,
“Not to be mighty, or of pow'r possest;
“Not to claim kindred with a splendid name,
“Or live recorded in the rolls of fame;
“Not for pre-eminence in rank or style,
“A monarch's favour, or a courtier's smile:
“But hopes more elevated, less confin'd,
“More prompt devotions, and an humbler mind.
“And when Time's measur'd sands were gradual run,
“And Life its strangely checker'd task had done,
“Sustained by mighty Faith's supporting arm,
“No guilt to sting, no terrours to alarm;
“Pleas'd should the spirit wing, from earth set free,
“Its flight to Heav'n, O Happiness! with thee.”

While others form the visionary scheme,
Of castles in the air phantastic dream;
Wrapt in the love of mercenary gold,
In wretchedness and misery grow old;
On Pleasure's wanton lap in dalliance lie,
And drink swift poison from her darted eye;

His moments thus the virtuous Bard employs,
And Spring far more than vulgarly enjoys;
Flatters no statesman, by base faction rais'd,
Himself dishonour'd, as his patron prais'd;
Maligns no worthy venerable name,
With parts, alas! that damn him into fame;
Takes from himself no image of the age,
Then to hell sinks it with a devil's rage:
But, unseduc'd by pride, caprice, or pelf,
Thinks greatly each man better than himself;
While Nature feasts with fruit his vagrant eye,
Soon at his feet in luscious heaps to lie;
At once delights him, Nature's true sublime,
With Plenty and with Beauty in their prime.

Breathe mild, ye winds! ye Zephyrs! gently fan,
Nor disappoint the sanguine hopes of man;
Your softest dews, ye skies! benignant show'r,
Nor scorch the folded bud, or infant flow'r:
That when Autumnal suns maturing shine,
Little inferiour to the purple vine,
May flow the limpid current from the press,
And sparkle highly-flavour'd in the glass;
That mellow fruitage, in profusion stor'd,
May long a delicate repast afford,

When Winter's joyless solitary reign
Extends through widow'd Nature's bleak domain;
When, round the clean-swept hearth, and blazing fire,
The social circle from the Storm retire;
Regardless how it sweeps with hostile roar,
And heaves the spumy billows to the shore;
Or how the torrent, rapid and profound,
With rous'd-up fury smokes along the ground;
While gloom primæval clouds the face of day,
And ruin big marks their tumultuous way!
From harm secure, with grateful calm content;
Prepar'd to taste the present blessings sent;
Such blessings Nature fails not to provide
For modest wishes, unenlarg'd by pride;
Happy that soon, these surly horrours past,
The rain-charg'd tempest, and the icy blast,
While Winter each in frightful caves confines,
And to her smile the willing world resigns,
Spring, usher'd in by Music's gladsome strain,
Will light exulting on the conscious plain;
Furnish'd with all that genial climes bestow,
To bless the fond expectant world below.
Furnish'd—but let the eye around be thrown
To see those treasures Spring may style her own.

Waft me, Imagination, on thy wing
To some sweet wood-encircled haunt of Spring,
Along fam'd Tweed, or fairer-border'd Clyde,
Where she delights with Beauty to reside.
Already has the Thames, imperial stream!
Unrival'd been the Muse's boasted theme,
Wafting the wealth of distant worlds along,
By Twick'nam's bard immortaliz'd in song;
Oh could I (but the forward wish is vain)
Reach his surpassing elegance of strain,
Not Thames alone should be consign'd to fame,
Clyde should the secondary honours claim!

Warm'd by the Season's vivifying ray,
Light, Muse, on airy pinion bear away,
To trace its current, various as it flows,
And verdure and fertility bestows.

First, in a sheet of water broad and deep,
On osier beds each murmur fast asleep,
It swells immense, in liquid mirrours seen,
Ashes and pines adown each margin green,
Or lime-trees in full arching rows prolong'd,
Or pendent rocks with thickets wildly throng'd:
Headlong anon, rous'd from its languid flow,
Where some huge precipice o'erlooks below.

The gulf profound, and ragged shadows frown,
It dashes, whirls, and smokes, and thunders down;
Till, in a smooth expanse compos'd again,
Onward it sweeps majestic to the main.

Here shoots with wing'd velocity along
The salmon, monarch of the scaly throng;
Here trouts unnumber'd skim their fluid way,
Plunge far below, or near the surface play;
Fierce-darting, here the tyrant pike resides,
While deep in mud the eel elapsive glides;
Often in nets by sturdy peasant haul'd,
Or on the angler's bloody hook impall'd.

Nor shall the Muse, transported as she roves,
Pass by, Dalzell! thy venerable groves.
Thy fields, such as romantic fancy feigns,
Where golden Plenty ever smiling reigns.
Thy orchards, loaded with Autumnal fruit,
Thy nurseries, where woods in embryo shoot.
Thy noble vistas, grottoes, and cascades,
Thy upland lawns, and sun-expanded glades.

Thy long, dark avenues, at distance seen,
Forming o'er head arch'd canopies of green.
Thy temples gilt, Invention's boast, and Clyde's,
Thy hot-beds, where through winter Spring resides.
Thy rich inclosures, where the stately deer
Majestic roam, or sport in fond career.
Thy flow'r-plots and thy gardens richly drest,
On which the genial powers of Culture rest.
Thy shady arbours, alcoves, green retreats,
The Lover's darling haunts, and Muse's seats;
Where pensive Meditation oft retires,
Stretches her wing, and kindles all her fires;
While, as she takes her visionary walk,
Around her forms ethereal seem to talk.
With her to spend the summer-lengthen'd day,
Each passion calm, and ev'ry care away,
Here would I envy not Arcadian swains,
Tempe's fam'd valley, nor Hesperia's plains.

Authors should too employ my choicest time,
Correct their diction, as their thoughts sublime.
Authors, whose pleasing lessons daily read,
Better the heart, while they inform the head;
Still, as by magic, Passion's inbred storm,
And portray Virtue in her comeliest form;

Not such as drag down Reason from her throne
Or make her reign unaided and alone;
Both ill extremes, and foes to humankind,
That warp the judgment, and debase the mind;
Where fatal doctrines charm in fair disguise,
Oft unperceiv'd by superficial eyes:
Amid a glow of subtile language, still
By taste selected, and arrang'd with skill,
Errour conceal'd from vulgar notice lurks,
And sure her darling scheme, though slowly, works.
As in a bed of flow'rs, or thorny brake,
Fold within fold lies hid the crested snake.

Who would affect to mingle with the croud,
Form'd of the selfish, insolent, and proud,
And not prefer the Country's tranquil joys,
Where Nature always pleases, never cloys?
For smoke, condens'd in many a pitchy wreath,
The sweetness of untainted air to breathe.
For narrow streets, by quick-ey'd Fancy led,
To roam through meads, in lilied verdure clad.
For noise incessant, from each pensile spray,
To hear the tuneful songster's jocund lay.
For vain distinctions and phantastic show,
Those cares Contentment glories not to know,

Nothing save rural elegance to see,
What Virtue is, what Grandeur ne'er can be.
Did angels from their blissful seats descend,
Their time below in Paradise to spend,
Our heav'nly guests would not in courts abide,
But near a wood, or by a fountain's side.

Happy the man, to whom a well-spread board
An ample Independence can afford,
Leisure to study, quiet, peace, and ease,
Born rather to be pleas'd, than others please;
A little sov'reign, though without a crown,
Courted his smile, nor dreaded less his frown!
Spring opens all her treasures to his view,
To be admir'd with more than common goo.
Labour and Want (unhospitable twain)
Chill not the current in Life's salient vein;
Nor damp the spirits, else of sprightly cast,
Nor check the nobler passions of the breast;
Nor blunt the fine Sensation's tender edge,
Which man's chief pride philosophers allege.
Thus some fair shoot, in spreading foliage gay,
Drinks youth and vigour from the golden day,
Because no worm gnaws at its root below,
Colds nip above, or forky lightnings glow.

A taste, improv'd by Education, finds
Pleasures where none appear to ruder minds;
Scenes, where the croud but few attractions see,
Affect it in an exquisite degree:
As telescopes, the finer ground, convey
More striking beauties by the visual ray;
Or magnets, as prepar'd the more exact,
Objects around more forcibly attract.

This is her privilege; nor this alone,
Wealth others yet more glorious calls her own.
Her's is the pow'r, from Heav'n descends the will,
The famish'd mouth of Indigence to fill.
To over-rule the casts of Fortune's wheels,
And mitigate the pang Affliction feels.
The cares of injur'd Virtue to beguile,
And make the haunts of Desolation smile.
With pious hand the frequent tear to dry,
That gushes down from Sorrow's humid eye.
The naked limbs in raiment to unfold,
Expos'd to shame, and all benumm'd with cold.
Thus to partake their pleasures, heighten'd too,
No painful sense of obligations due:
For he whose bounty well directed flows,
Enjoys the very blessings he bestows.

As bodies give to others, though at rest,
That same first motion on themselves imprest;
Or as the clouds in exhalations gain,
What they expended in Vertumnal rain;
While Virtue dares not to decide pretend,
Which party most indebted in the end.

Such kindred sentiments would Spring impart,
Softness of look, and gentleness of heart;
Simplicity of thought, a taste refin'd,
Feeling of soul, and sympathy of mind.
For view through vegetable life her plan,
In guile how little she resembles man!
All her productions, to enrich the year,
Simply and fairly are what they appear.
I wrong her sure—minutely them explore,
She promis'd much, but she bestows us more.
The flow'r excells in elegance of hue,
Ev'n to the distant superficial view;
But to its velvet leaves the glass apply,
Still richer glows the variegated dye!
The herb and plant how botanists admire,
Though furnish'd only with plain green attire!
But let the chymist exercise his art,
Extracting the rich essence of each part;

What words can paint our gratitude to Spring,
While health we title a momentous thing!
Though much on her employ'd the sylvan strains,
Much of her beauties still unsung remains.
But who can count the pearly globules Morn
Sheds infinite on ev'ry twinkling thorn?
Or who arrange with unbewilder'd eye
The stars that cluster through the midnight sky?

Hail, blooming Spring! essential Sweetness, hail!
Thy fragrant breath perfumes the lenient gale.
Thy magic smile, amid the Tempest's strife,
Can wake the torpid glebe to verdant life;
The harden'd soften, the compact expand,
Moist from thy dews, and by thy zephyrs fann'd.
Not central cold its genial force can stop,
Though Winter's frosts arrest the pendent drop.
By it the sap, protruded to the root,
And juices, long confin'd, fermenting shoot;
Through twining tubes in brisk meanders play,
And life and vigour to the top convey.
From hence deriv'd the vegetative pow'r,
The turgid stem, herb, plant, and dew-fring'd flow'r.
Hence all the various growths that Earth o'erspread,
Mantled in verdure, and by ether fed.

Hence Summer to the thickest shades retreats,
And coolest haunts, to shun the sultry heats;
Hence ripens, underneath her radiant eye,
Refresh'd by dews, that trickle from the sky,
The fields, thick-waving in luxuriant grain,
And vineyards flush'd with purple's richest stain.
Hence Autumn gathers in his fruits mature,
From hostile winds and accidents secure;
While the glad hind, exulting in his store,
Content, forms not a distant wish for more;
His rosy children prattling on his knee,
Their little sweet endearments fond to see;
They too delighted to behold him smile,
With aspect pleas'd, and brow relax'd the while.
Hence, the full Year with golden plenty crown'd,
The liberal glass, in bumpers hurried round,
Inspires each gladden'd heart, from cares set free,
With honest transport, and facetious glee;
No red-cheek'd dame forgot, with artless mien,
And untaught step, that trips the daizied green.

Hence all that lavish imagery thrown
From Nature's lap, which Fancy names her own.
Hence too whate'er to studious ease inclines,
Exalts the genius, or the sense refines;

Those objects, in successive fair display,
That wake to harmony the Poet's lay;
Excite fond pictures in the Lover's thought,
The Lover still intensely musing caught,
Venting, where some congenial shade surrounds,
His love-sad anguish in pathetic sounds.

The End of the Fifth Book.

One of the finest seats, for natural beauties particularly, on Clyde, belonging to Archibald Hamilton of Rosehall, Esq;

BOOK VI.

From crouded villas, and frequented ways,
Unhappy youth! now pensive Damon strays.
Damon, whom Love to lasting sorrow dooms,
To pathless haunts, and solitary glooms;
Where echoes, sympathetic with his wo,
Where crystal brooks, that murmur as they flow;
Where lonely birds of melancholy throat,
That piteous swell the sadly-pleasing note;
Where flutes that round to plaintive music wake,
Where grasshoppers that chirp amid the brake;
Where bees that hum, or to the blossom cling,
Where beatles, wheeling round on drony wing,
Where zephyrs, sighing through the branchy trees,
Where ev'ry sound he hears, or object sees;
Confirm, but by some strange mysterious pow'rs,
The settled sadness on his brow that low'rs.

Long ill-requited had he worn her chains,
That reigns the scornful Beauty of the plains;
Oft, in such language as express'd his flame,
Trembling would he accost the haughty dame;
Oft as she pass'd, no kindly word to say,
In pleasing anguish look his soul away.

But all in vain; her heart would never melt,
No thrill of passion ere her bosom felt;
With angry glance, or quick-averted eye,
Would she retire, disdaining to reply.

Once, from a secret eminence he spied
Himself unseen (Love's ever watchful-ey'd)
His fair one trip across the nether lawn,
Her cheek, the roseate blush that paints the dawn.
Spring strow'd with fragrant flow'rs her smiling way,
And zephyrs wanton'd with her loose array;
While birds, her steps delighted to detain,
Pour all their softest melody of strain.
Enamour'd round her lovely eyes she threw,
In many a glance, on the surrounding view,
Where Spring's gay forms their sweetest looks assume,
In naked pride of noon-unfolded bloom;
Pleas'd with the partial self-attested truth,
That all smil'd emblems of her charms and youth.
But had she guess'd what conscious eye beheld,
To her no more the landscape had excell'd.
Lightly the grass her hasty footsteps print,
And no delay her motions seem to hint.
Howe'er by others view'd, in Damon's eye,
Our Fair seem'd not to walk, but almost fly.

100

Ill-omen'd speed, yet hoping half he err'd,
He knew to somewhat not his meed referr'd!
Some foreign care her thoughts seems to employ,
And ev'ry step deprives him of a joy.
No wonder Damon gaz'd with dumb surprise,
With all his passions crouding to his eyes!
Rarely the eye-lids of the blushing Morn
Ope on a maid whom fairer charms adorn!
In spiral rings her hair disparted flows,
And half her neck of milky whiteness shows;
Her garments, loosely floating on the gale,
Would hide her gentle limbs, but kindly fail.

New glory, in his fond deluded eye,
Seems to illumine all the cloudless sky;
In beauty ev'ry object to surpass,
As conscious of the presence of his lass.
Each sound, each accent, of a pleasing kind,
He partial deems to catch her ear design'd;
To call her easy gracefulness of air,
Her bloom, her shape, her looks, beyond compare.
A fuller gale of fragrance from the ground
Seems to diffuse its wafted sweets around.

Yet other feelings too succeed in turn,
Destin'd to freeze, like Hecla, and to burn.

101

What strange sensations vibrate in his eye!
How heaves his bosom with the lab'ring sigh!
What doubts, what fears, (to hold him in suspense)
Rush in disorder on his troubled sense!
How Recollection her fell pow'r employs,
To dwell on former scenes of blasted joys!
To bring each disappointment into mind,
When all her looks and answers were unkind;
Hiding no proof officious from his view,
That can the anguish of his soul renew;
O'ercloud his brow with the dark gloom of care,
And sink his baffled wishes in despair!

Yet through the chaos of his thoughts, from far
Hope faintly gleams, like some auspicious star.
Oft he resolves aside reserve to lay,
And throw himself abruptly in her way,
One last effort to melt a frozen heart,
That mocks his passion, and derides his art.
But soon his coward resolution flags,
His courage fails him ev'ry step he drags.
He dreads to try, by one decisive test,
What wretched renders him for life—or blest.
Too prudent fear—for ah! ill-fated swain!
This trial had like others prov'd in vain!

102

She chanc'd, as passing negligently by,
Where Damon stood, to cast her lifted eye.
Nor needed more—with frown-o'erclouded look,
And sudden turn, a by-mark'd path she took.
Down his swoln cheek the tear effusive dropt,
And stupid grief his pow'r of utt'rance stopt—

At other times, oft to the clear expanse
Would he, erect in conscious pride, advance.
There, in a faithful mirrour, he beheld,
In what his person fail'd, in what excell'd;
His manly limbs how turn'd, his sinews strung,
His shape how graceful, how his shoulders hung;
What comeliness of aspect might inspire
Some gentle female bosom with desire.
Returning lightsome from the fond survey,
Oft to himself in silence would he say,
“Sure, though as cold as Winter's native ice,
“This form of mine some Virgin might entice,
“Else has the crystal element hard by,
“Flatter'd poor Damon, and deceiv'd his eye!
“Yet do the flow'rs, its margin that compose,
“By the resemblance half their beauties lose.
“Shall it a heighten'd image then convey,
“And flatter love-sick shepherds more than they?

103

“If thus beguil'd, where-e'er his footsteps go,
“Still in despair may Damon's sorrows flow.”

Thus, while the Hours on heavy pinions move,
He lingers out a life of hopeless love;
Alike forgot, where fellow-swains convene,
The sprightly dance, and gambol on the green;
His crook neglected, mute his oaten reed,
And lonely flocks untended left to feed.

But see where Strephon, happy shepherd! laid
Beneath the umbrage of a beechen shade,
With pipe and song the tedious time beguiles,
While pleas'd around him blooming Nature smiles.
No vulture on his vitals inly preys,
No clouds obscure the sunshine of his days;
He gives each sad reflection to the wind,
His flocks all thriving, and his mistress kind.

One summer's day, beneath the noon-tide beam,
Strephon, return'd from bathing in the stream,
Sought the cool windings of a devious wood,
That well accorded with the Lover's mood.
Here ev'ry noted songster, warbling round,
Ran through the softest melodies of sound.
Here gelid breezes fann'd the sultry hours,
Lavish of sweets from incense-breathing flow'rs.

104

Here Silence fixes her retir'd domain,
Far from the proud, the wanton, and the vain.
Here Melancholy's tardy footsteps range,
With countenance scarce Spring herself can change.
Here something strikes him, speech but ill explains,
That sends an unknown rapture through his veins,
Conveys, though Nature only knows from whence,
Strange images of transport to his sense;
Which all, howe'er confus'd and wild they mix,
Alone on one beloved object fix.
Something, of secret instantaneous pow'r,
Nor to a mode restricted, nor an hour,
That a sad-pleasing flow of temper brings,
And wakes the Fancy by unusual springs.

Nor does this charm the soften'd soul to melt,
This nameless impulse only to be felt,
Affect the doubting anxious Lover more,
Than Him, whose cares and vague distrusts are o'er.
Each somewhat of a sweet despondence finds,
A languishment, that soothes but Lovers' minds.
Each too is gratified, yet nothing gains,
Though what the one delights, the other pains.
Thus Strephon, though Ethlinda kind as fair,
With Love's bland voice had bade him not despair;

105

Amid the rueful solitary shade,
Conceiv'd a joy from each thing he survey'd;
Yet sighs his inward discontent betray,
His Charmer still protracts the happy day,
When yonder sun shall meet his eager sight,
To see their persons with their hearts unite.

Not long the grateful covert he enjoy'd,
On recollected proofs of love employ'd;
What mingled sweetness in her features reigns,
Where Beauty seems to speak what Virtue means;
Where her fine temper's seen, beyond a guess,
As objects shine reflected in a glass!
Not long, on such endearing thoughts intent,
He thus indulg'd his fancy's pleasing bent,
How kind his angel last, how soothing spoke,
When from a secret copse these accents broke,
Which through each sense like subtile lightning thrill'd,
And all his soul with sudden tumults fill'd.

“O Strephon! beauteous as the dawn of day!
“Blooming as Spring! as radiant Summer gay!
“Sweeter than odours from the new-mown vale!
“And milder than the softly-breathing gale!
“O lovely youth! thy charms, unknown to art,
“Attract each eye, and captivate each heart.

106

“In vain, alas! Ethlinda's virgin pride
“The partial wishes of her breast would hide.
“No shepherd in the festive dance I see
“Can, gentle Strephon, once compare with thee.
“Thy locks, that down in shining ringlets fall,
“Thy form unequall'd, manly, graceful, tall;
“Thy open countenance, and star-bright eye,
“Thy health-flush'd cheek, where artless dimples lie;
“Thy polish'd brow, unfurrow'd o'er with care,
“Thy easy carriage, and engaging air;
“The honey gliding music of thy tongue,
“Beyond whate'er enamour'd shepherd sung;
“Thy elegance of taste, and temper frank,
“Conspire to set thee far above thy rank!
“These render thee the Country's darling boast,
“Of all thy fellow-swains distinguish'd most!
“But O!—what shall a bashful maiden say?
“These charms have stole Ethlinda's heart away!
“Howe'er in numbers she affects to mix,
“On thee alone her thoughts with rapture fix!
“A thousand quaint remarks, and sighs apart,
“Fraught with the unknown wishes of her heart;
“A thousand looks, that mean expressive more
“Than words can tell, though ransack'd o'er and o'er;

107

“A thousand artless smiles, if Strephon by,
“A thousand side long glances of the eye;
“A thousand tender proofs, did she disguise,
“Against her would in bold conviction rise.”

“But such from noblest friendships oft are shown,
“Which blushing Modesty herself may own.
“Such too to Strephon's candid view they seem'd,
“And shall not obvious Merit be esteem'd?
“Is it forbid in females to admire?
“Can Custom's laws such deference require?
“Must maids to some excess be ever prone,
“Pliant as wax, or harder than the stone?
“Scorch'd by the flame that Love within excites,
“Or cold as Winter-snows on Lapland heights?
“Is there no happy medium to prefer,
“Nor in the one extreme nor other err?

“Ye Formalists! ye stiff censorious race!
“With air demure, and grave disciplin'd face!
“Say, where the bounds by Reason fix'd begin,
“Which virgin Modesty must keep within:
“How far say, and no farther, must the tide,
“Without control, of female fancy glide,
“Nor to o'erflow its banks, nor yet forsake,
“As either might our int'rests leave at stake?

108

“How Judgment may the helm, with prudent fear,
“Far from the shallow, and the eddy steer;
“That no rough blast, with unsuspected shock,
“May dash us shipwreck'd on Misfortune's rock,
“But down the current Hope may gently sail,
“Wafted by ev'ry mild and pleasant gale.

“Why have we faculties which angels share,
“And fix'd on objects not beneath their care;
“Why Fancy, which some bold flights still employ,
“But the wide range of Nature to enjoy?
“Why Memory, but, each excursion o'er,
“To lay all her researches up in store?
“Why have we passions of so fine a turn,
“With Love to languish, or with Friendship burn;
“Why those affections of a gentler kind,
“To all the social feelings still inclin'd;
“Why hearts of such refin'd materials fram'd,
“To relish pleasures language never nam'd;
“But to dilate, at the fond tender hour,
“And feel the warmth of sentimental pow'r?
“Why have we senses, of so keen an edge,
“Of Nature's kind regard the living pledge,
“None of her gifts so bountiful as they,
“But pleasure through soft inlets to convey?

109

“Why have we organs exquisite for sound,
“But to be charm'd by Nature vocal round?
“For vision, but to view, all sweet surprise,
“Beauty, with soften'd look, and melting eyes?
“For speech, but to express these chaste desires,
“With which Love Innocence herself inspires?
“Why fram'd thus mid Creation are we plac'd,
“But what attracts of fair and good to taste?
“Why thus endu'd? but virtue-caution'd when,
“And where, to be as happy as we can?

“Ah! self-deluder! arts like these must fail
“O'er Nature's standard maxims to prevail.
“Such arts may on thyself impose, but know,
“Poor love-sick maid, such arts no farther go.
“Echo, reposing in her rocky cell,
“Till Love the tender tale essay'd to tell,
“And conscious zephyrs, round thee wont to play,
“Would all thy fair appearances betray;
“Thy specious pleas, and inferences bold,
“In their own vain fallacious light unfold.
“Oft too, ere wearied with her silent walk,
“Where deep'ning shadows seem'd around to stalk,
“Cynthia, between the op'nings of the shade,
“Beheld unseen the melancholy maid.

110

“Nor she alone, unconscious to the eye,
“But all her bright companions of the sky.
“Oft as she wander'd, at the murky hour,
“To some lone alley, or espalier-bow'r,
“When all but Love, by wakeful cares opprest,
“Retir'd to taste the sweets of downy rest;
“Vesper shone witness of her flame avow'd,
“If sobs and sighs are tender marks allow'd;
“If looks, that seem in silence to complain,
“If footsteps, that no certain course maintain,
“If endless musings, with sad down-cast eyes,
“To proofs of more than doubtful meaning rise.”

She ceas'd—but little thought her Lover nigh,
To hear, with broken voice and heaving sigh,
The prompt confession from her bosom flow,
With all the love-sad emphasis of wo.
Strephon, who long stood like a statue fix'd,
In ecstasy with speechless wonder mix'd,
As these last words his ravish'd ear detain,
No longer his impatience could restrain;
But straightway steals, directed by the sound,
Where haply the sweet mourner might be found.
Nor wanders far—with rapture-quicken'd pace,
He soon explores the oft-frequented place.

111

Where, in a state of terrour and surprise,
That wildly flash'd alternate from her eyes,
With countenance deep-ruffled o'er with care,
He found his sweetly-agitated fair.

Oft she essay'd the forward youth to fly,
As oft her feet their timely aid deny.
Resentment seem'd to chide her strange delay,
But something gently whisper'd her to stay.
She judg'd him rude, but in a mild degree,
Prudence condemn'd, but Candour set him free.
Divided passions in her bosom rose,
Love govern'd these, but female spirit those.
But how unequal is the contest found,
When Pride and Love contend to keep the ground?
This always conquers, though against our will,
That, in the issue, proves the vanquish'd still.
A sudden glow, that made her charm the more,
Her cheek in deep suffusion colour'd o'er.
Unusual heavings in her bosom told,
Her heart how caught, and his approach how bold.
A soft confusion all her air betray'd,
And mix'd emotions seize the silent maid.
While Strephon too was in proportion aw'd,
His looks would censure what his thoughts applaud.

112

But why those tumults? that disorder'd look?
Respect, with love, ne'er Strephon's breast forsook;
His passion, still controll'd by too much sense,
And much too delicate, to give offence.
Thus, soon his aspect and address allay'd
The various doubts of the half-angry maid.
He spoke—but only, as her fears he saw,
To make a gen'rous offer to withdraw.
“O Pardon,” he in gentle accents cries,
“Love too officious gave thee this surprise.
“Pardon a faithful swain, who only proves
“A bold intruder thus, because he—loves.
“A frown that beauteous brow but to invade,
“To him, Noon's brightest sun-beam would o'ershade;
“Would to his wishes death at once impart,
“And like a dagger pierce him to the heart.
“If but his presence hurts my lovely maid,
“She need but word her will to be obey'd.
“Obey'd, in all that exile can imply,
“From her, from love, and happiness to fly.
“Say, charmer! shall I quit this sweet recess,
“Sacred to friendship, nor to Strephon less?
“Shall I my fortune all at once resign,
“And, for thy ease and comfort, forfeit mine?

113

“But can, to render life scarce worth a care,
“Thy ease and pleasure be to him despair?
“To his hard fate may Strephon then retire,
“In secret pine, yet cease not to admire.”
He stopt; and seem'd to think she whisper'd—no,
Although her answer meant to bid him go;
Yet, had she disallow'd his longer stay,
She hop'd to find her Lover disobey.
Thus pleas'd alike, alike to please inclin'd,
Their equal wishes one acceptance find,
While both, each selfish mean disguise above,
Vow mutual constancy, and mutual love .

Thus would the Muse, amid the din of arms
Tumultuous, and the trumpet's loud alarms ;
While War malignant rages unconfin'd,
And purple Slaughter thins the human kind;
The softer scenes of Peace attempt to paint,
Beauteous her landscapes, though her colours faint.

114

Faint, gentle Thomson! when to thine compar'd,
With whom her skill kind Nature fondly shar'd,
While ev'ry Season ran its full career,
To draw a finish'd portrait of the Year!
Nor is her subject of ignoble fame,
Though less of sounding grandeur in its name.
Peace shall exult supreme from shore to shore,
When War's loud clangours kindle strife no more;
Kings see themselves, who now like gods behave,
Sunk to the level of their meanest slave.

But to sylvestran scenes, where Fancy strays,
Fountains and groves, confin'd her humble lays,
While only zephyrs whisper in her song,
Birds simply warble, murmurs glide along;
Will no heroic bard, by glory fir'd,
By victory and martial deeds inspir'd,
Britannia sing, victorious o'er her foes,
Whose smiles to peace a willing world compose?
Sing Liberty, with civet wreaths adorn'd,
Without whom, crowns shine only to be scorn'd?

Who rouses not at Freedom's glorious name?
Mounts up to transport, kindles into flame?
Dilates in the big swell of conscious pride?
And looks, and speaks, as if to thrones allied?

115

Freedom, whose int'rests with Religion's mix,
Howe'er vain schoolmen names distinct affix,
As fibres of the heart together twine,
Or glass-transmitted rays concenter'd shine;
On one same gracious sacred errand sent,
Alike in nature, motive, and extent!
A separation is the death of each,
Whate'er kings boast, or bold fanatics teach!

Where-e'er Britannia's royal banners fly,
Whether in nearer, or remoter sky,
Conquest attends, shapes her resistless way,
And quick decides the fortune of the day.
What well concerted plans! what great designs!
Where patriotic wisdom glorious shines!
What orders with alacrity perform'd!
Cities subdu'd, and mighty bulwarks storm'd!
What acquisitions! what renew'd success!
Our fortune great, nor yet our conduct less!
How will these animate the future page,
The splendid boast of each succeeding age!
How all alive will Fancy's colouring glow!
With what proud majesty the numbers flow!
While some rapt Bard, whom Homer's genius warms,
Sublimely sings, inspir'd, of men and arms,

116

Makes British heroes rival those of Greece,
The long-fam'd Iliad less a matchless piece!
From Virgil's brow unties the age twin'd bays,
To flourish on his own with tenfold praise!

But shall such noble themes pass now unsung,
Untun'd the lyre, mute the harmonious tongue?
Shall Britain wide diffuse her warlike name,
The earth not more unbounded than her fame,
Nor yet a Bard, on whom the Muses smile,
Be found through all her sea-encircled isle?
Shall Albion's sons, renown'd for conquest long,
In ev'ry place be heroes but in song?
In ev'ry place, save in the tuneful page,
Her trophies claim the wonder of the age!

Next Him, in whom a nation can confide,
The mighty helm of Government to guide;
Calm, wise, discerning, steady, fix'd, as fate,
To manage all the grand concerns of state;
Next to the gallant Hero great in arms,
Whose bosom more than Roman virtue warms,
Whose valour, which to glory still inclines,
Prompt executes the Statesman's bold designs;
The Bard accomplish'd should be understood,
As those of ancient fame, a public good.

117

In ev'ry age depends upon his pen
The gift of Immortality to men,
Which great achievements not alone can give;
Thus godlike names of old recorded live,
The finest scenes of conduct and address,
Applause that merit, or ensure success;
The noblest efforts of heroic might,
Exerted in the tumult of the fight,
While rival kings in glorious strife contend,
And crowns imperial on each stroke depend;
If some illustrious Verse recite them not,
Die of themselves, neglected and forgot .
The mist of ages, gather'd by degrees,
Where Study objects through false mediums sees,
Spreads o'er Fame's fair horizon, and displays
One gloomy, vast, inexplicable, maze;
Still, in those native regions of romance,
The more obscure, the further we advance,

118

If Poetry, as day-break on the night,
Shines not abroad to call from darkness light.

But whether has the Muse digressive stray'd,
Forsook the peaceful covert of the shade,
To rush amid the noisy files of war,
Led by the light of the Mœonian star?
Tumult and death, while mighty kings dispute,
Ill, beauteous Spring, thy gentle temper suit.
The purple dye, on plains embattled seen,
Forms a sad contrast with thy softer green.
Thy love-tun'd voice, that sighs among the trees,
With the loud roar of battle ill agrees.
No more digressions shall the Muse prolong,
But end with Thee as she began her song.

Hark! in yon plantane-range, yon poplar-shade,
Hard by the murmur of a lone cascade,
Or where some antique pile, superbly high,
Rears its enormous ruin to the sky;
At Twilight's dusky hour, protracted long,
The Nightingale plies her lugubrious song;
Piteous, as if her gentle mate had died,
Or tender young been ravish'd from her side.
Warn'd by the dying cadence of her strain,
Like her the screech-owl peeps out to complain.

119

Complain of such as barb'rous would molest
Her peaceful haunts, her ivy-circled nest.
On yonder wall in solemn state she sits,
While round and round the bat incessant flits,
Yon time-rent wall, with moss-tufts overgrown,
And utters forth her melancholy moan.
Silence and mute Attention, guards serene,
Meet to preserve the stillness of the scene.

The pool in gentle undulations shook
By the swift lapse of some near-falling brook;
The milk-maid, as she bears her fragrant load,
Singing aloud to cheer the dreary road;
The beatle's drony pinions, slowly stirr'd,
The frequent hoots of Night's ill-omen'd bird;
The heifer lowing from adjacent hill,
The mastiff barking from a distant vill;
The shepherd's horn with lusty cheek full-blown,
The gently-finger'd hautboy's milder tone;
The momentary rustling of the breeze,
Sighing in scarce-heard whispers through the trees;
The break successive, and deep hollow roar,
Of billows lashing some contiguous shore;
The ceaseless hum of insects, hov'ring round,
And flocks penn'd up with sleepy tinkling sound;

120

The blackbird's clamours, lonely as she hops,
Her infant brood, ah! ravish'd from the copse;
The partridge shrill, in some adjoining park,
Seeking her mate scarce obvious in the dark;
The swallow, twitt'ring from her mud-built nest,
As if to soothe her callow young to rest;
Or noisy martlets, in phantastic play,
And keen pursuit, winging their airy way;
While each by intervals the ear detains,
Sets off the nightingale's mellifluous strains;
With endless contrasts varies ev'ry note,
And gives peculiar softness to her throat.

While, in one universal chaunt of praise,
The common herd of warblers join'd their lays,
Greatly as if superiour to the rest,
In scornful silence she her voice supprest.
But now, the wonder-list'ning world her own,
When she can charm the pensive ear alone,
In full impassion'd melody of wo,
Through the dun shade her mournful numbers flow.
Night, lurking in the distant vap'ry sky,
Or hov'ring in her ebon chariot nigh,
Transported, seems her visit to delay,
Loath to obscure the faint remains of day.

121

Echo too, fond no tender accent should
The delicacy of her ear elude;
From some lone grot, or antiquated tow'r,
Exhausts her finest arts of mimic pow'r.

Say, Music! by what fascinating art,
Dost thou hold sov'reign empire o'er the heart?
Say, whence thy pow'rs mysterious can arise,
Sure some ecstatic impulse from the skies,
By ev'ry nerve that vibrates to the brain,
The soft ascendant o'er the soul to gain?
Rapid and sudden, like ethereal fire,
All the whole man resistless to inspire?

Hail, potent lenitive! hail magic charm!
The viper of his poison to disarm!
The rabid tyger's deadly rage to stay,
And soften lions rampant o'er their prey!
Kindly to sweeten Fortune's bitter cup,
And keep through life man's drooping spirits up!
His journey o'er earth's rugged paths to smoothe,
His toils to mitigate, his cares to soothe!
To still the sigh that heaves the breast of wo,
And dry those tears down sorrow's cheek that flow!

But see! from yonder chambers of the sky,
Sent by the sun his absence to supply,

122

The full-orb'd moon, queen-regent of the night,
In all the soft resplendency of light,
With silent imperceptible advance,
Slides up the clear cerulean's smooth expanse.
Quick through the air the yellow radiance spreads,
First faint reflected from the mountain-heads;
Then, delicately checker'd, by degrees,
It steals among the openings of the trees,
Or on the river, mov'd in sprightly flow,
Dances in mild vibrations to and fro;
Anon immense, o'er all the landscape wide,
Diffus'd in one uninterrupted tide.
On as the meek-ey'd Empress glides serene,
Stars, to augment the grandeur of the scene,
Brightly arrang'd her sapphire path along,
Or cluster'd round her car, in myriads throng.

The solemn, glimm'ring, exquisite display
Of beauties, Fancy ever would survey,
Court the nocturnal Warbler to prolong,
Nor court in vain, her finely-varied song.
While Sleep prepares, with aspect still and calm,
On human eyes to pour her opiate balm;
The day-set task of busy Labour o'er,
And care's incessant clamours heard no more;

123

Retir'd the peasant to his straw-thatch'd cot,
The noble, rich, and mighty, envied not;
Content with what the beauteous Seasons bring,
The wealth of Autumn, promis'd by the Spring.
Spring! softest period of the circling Year!
When all things in the bloom of youth appear;
When Nature's hoary age seems quite renew'd,
In Winter's arms late spent and wrinkled view'd;
To which, while all the brighten'd landscape glows,
Summer her radiant flush of beauty owes:
To whose bland influence, and enliv'ning smile,
If aught, in fancy, sentiment, or style,
The Muse can boast of beautiful, is due
The inspiration, and the tribute too.
Ye kindred souls, whose taste is form'd sublime
On Nature's faultless standard, friends of rhyme,
Whose feeling hearts Spring's charms by instinct move,
Cherish her labours, and the verse approve!

But when, at shut of eve, all home repair,
The soft delights of virtuous rest to share,
Sweeter than that, on silken couch of down,
Partakes the monarch burden'd with a crown;

124

And leave the Solitude, more awful grown,
To Philomela and the Muse alone;
The Muse too must the scene sequester'd quit,
To let unrival'd the proud Songstress fit.
Unrival'd, save by Him, whose tuneful tongue
Of life and death in lofty numbers sung;
Who of those idols all so fond pursue,
Riches and Fame, a faithful portrait drew;
To man immortal set his matchless strings,
Himself immortal render'd while he sings!
The dark-brow'd Night, through her opaque domain,
The Moon, with all the planetary train,
Listen'd with silent wonder to his lay,
Pleas'd thus preferr'd their empire to the day.
He heard the latest quiver of her throat,
Though echoes lengthen'd out each parting note.
Who else, sweet Nightingale! could sing so well?
Who else the twilight-harmonist excell?
He saw the lark on early pinion rise,
Saluting with her matin song the skies;
The silver Majesty of night withdrew,
And stars alternate vanish'd from the view;

125

To other worlds, far as their beams can pierce,
The Bard's nocturnal labours to rehearse!
But simpler scenes the rural Muse delight,
Her wing a stranger to so bold a flight;
Far other themes attune the sylvan lyre,
Far other strains Spring's modest charms inspire.

The End of the Sixth and last Book.

It will here be obvious, though shepherd, flock, &c. are introduced, as giving a romantic air to the description, that, in the foregoing love-scenes, the writer never intended to preserve the simplicity of the pastoral character. This will apologize for Ethlinda being so great a reasoner in love.

Written in the year 1761.

------ Sed omnes illacrymabiles
Urgentur, ignotique longa
Nocte, carent quia vate sacro.
Hor. Scindentur vestes, gemmæ frangentur et aurum;
Carmina quam tribuent fama perennis erit.
Ovid.