[The Seasons:] SPRING.

COME, gentle SPRING, AETHEREAL MILDNESS, come,
 And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud,
 While music wakes around, veil'd in a shower
 Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend. 

O HERTFORD, fitted, or to shine in courts,
 With unaffected grace; or walk the plain,
 With INNOCENCE and MEDITATION join'd
 In soft assemblage, listen to my song,
 That thy own Season paints; when NATURE all
 Is blooming, and benevolent like thee. 

AND see where surly WINTER passes off,
 Far to the north, and calls his ruffian blasts;
 His blasts obey, and quit the howling hill,
 The shatter'd forest, and the ravag'd vale:
 While softer gales succeed, at whose kind touch,
 Dissolving snows in livid torrents lost,
 The mountains lift their green heads to the sky. 

As yet the trembling year is unconfirm'd,
 And WINTER oft at eve resumes the breeze,
 Chills the pale morn, and bids his driving sleets
 Deform the day delightless; so that scarce
 The Bittern knows the time, with bill ingulpht
 To shake the sounding marsh; or from the shore
 The Plovers theirs, to scatter o'er the heath,
 And sing their wild notes to the listening waste. 

AT last from ARIES rolls the bounteous sun,
 And the bright BULL receives him. Then no more
 Th' expansive atmosphere is cramp'd with cold,
 But full of life, and vivifying soul,
 Lifts the light clouds sublime, and spreads them thin,
 Fleecy, and white, o'er all-surrounding heaven. 

FORTH fly the tepid airs; and unconfin'd
 Unbinding earth, the moving softness strays. 
Joyous th' impatient husbandman perceives
 Relenting nature, and his lusty steers,
 Drives from their stalls, to where the well-us'd plow
 Lies in the furrow loosen'd from the frost. 
There, unrefusing to the harness'd yoke,
 They lend their shoulder, and begin their toil,
 Chear'd by the simple song, and soaring lark. 
Meanwhile incumbent o'er the shining share
 The master leans, removes th' obstructing clay,
 Winds the whole work, and sidelong lays the glebe. 

WHITE thro' the neighbouring fields the sower stalks
 With measur'd step, and liberal throws the grain
 Into the faithful bosom of the Ground. 
The harrow follows harsh, and shuts the scene. 

BE gracious, HEAVEN! for now laborious man
 Has done his due. Ye fostering breezes, blow! 
Ye softening dews, ye tender showers, descend! 
And temper all, thou world-reviving sun,
 Into the perfect year! Nor, ye who live
 In luxury and ease, in pomp and pride,
 Think these lost themes unworthy of your ear. 
'Twas such as these the rural MARO sung,
 To the full ROMAN court, in all its height
 Of elegance and taste. The sacred plow
 Employ'd the kings and fathers of mankind,
 In antient times. And some, with whom compar'd
 You're but the beings of a summer's day,
 Have held the scale of justice, shook the lance
 Of mighty war, then with descending hand,
 Unus'd to little delicacies, seiz'd
 The plow, and greatly independant liv'd. 

YE generous BRITONS, cultivate the plow! 
And o'er your hills, and long withdrawing vales,
 Let AUTUMN spread his treasures to the sun,
 Luxuriant, and unbounded. As the sea,
 Far thro' his azure, turbulent extent,
 Your empire owns, and from a thousand shores
 Wafts all the pomp of life into your ports;
 So with superior boon may your rich soil,
 Exuberant, nature's better blessings pour
 O'er every land, the naked nations cloath,
 And be th' exhaustless granary of a world. 

NOR thro' the lenient air alone, this change
 Delicious breathes; the penetrative sun,
 His force deep darting to the dark retreat
 Of vegetation, sets the steaming power
 At large, to wander o'er the verdant earth,
 In various hues, but chiefly thee, gay GREEN! 
Thou smiling NATURE's universal robe! 
United light and shade! where the sight dwells
 With growing strength, and ever-new delight! 

FROM the moist meadow to the brown-brow'd hill,
 Led by the breeze, the vivid verdure runs,
 And swells, and deepens to the cherish'd eye. 
The hawthorn whitens; and the juicy groves
 Put forth their buds, unfolding by degrees,
 Till the whole leafy forest stands display'd,
 In full luxuriance, to the sighing gales;
 While the deer rustle thro' the twining brake,
 And the birds sing conceal'd. At once array'd
 In all the colours of the flushing year,
 By NATURE's swift and secret-working hand,
 The garden glows, and fills the liberal air
 With lavish fragrance; while the promis'd fruit
 Lies yet a little embryo, unperceiv'd,
 Within its crimson folds. Now from the town
 Buried in smoke, and sleep, and noisom damps,
 Oft let me wander o'er the dewy fields,
 Where freshness breathes, and dash the lucid drops
 From the bent bush, as thro' the fuming maze
 Of sweet-briar hedges I pursue my walk;
 Or taste the smell of dairy; or ascend
 Some eminence, AUGUSTA, in thy plains,
 And see the country far diffus'd around
 One boundless blush, one white empurpled shower
 Of mingled blossoms; where the raptur'd eye
 Travels from joy to joy, and hid beneath
 The fair profusion, yellow AUTUMN spies. 

IF brush'd from RUSSIAN wilds a cutting gale
 Rise not, and scatter from his foggy wings
 The bitter mildew, or dry-blowing breathe
 Untimely frost; before whose baleful blast,
 The full-blown SPRING thro' all her foliage shrinks,
 Into a smutty, wide-dejected waste. 
For oft engender'd by the hazy north,
 Myriads on Myriads, insect armies waft
 Keen in the poison'd breeze; and wasteful eat
 Thro' buds, and bark, into the blacken'd Core,
 Their eager way. A feeble race! scarce seen,
 Save by the prying eye? yet famine waits
 On their corrosive course, and kills the year. 
Sometimes o'er cities as they steer their flight,
 Where rising vapour melts their wings away,
 Gaz'd by th' astonish'd crowd, the horrid shower
 Descends. And hence the skilful farmer chaff. 
And blazing straw before his orchard burns;
 Till, all involv'd in smoke, the latent foe
 From every cranny suffocated falls;
 Or onions, steaming hot, beneath his trees
 Exposes, fatal to the frosty tribe:
 Nor, from their friendly task, the busy bill
 Of little trooping birds instinctive scares. 

THESE are not idle philosophick dreams,
 Full NATURE swarms with life. Th' unfaithful fen
 In putrid steams emits the livid cloud
 Of Pestilence. Thro' subterranean Cells,
 Where searching sun-beams never found a way,
 Earth animated heaves. The flowery leaf
 Wants not its soft inhabitants. The stone,
 Hard as it is, in every winding pore
 Holds multitudes. But chief the forest-boughs,
 Which dance unnumber'd to th' inspiring breeze,
 The downy orchard, and the melting pulp
 Of mellow fruit the nameless nations feed
 Of evanescent Insects. Where the pool
 Stands mantled o'er with green, invisible,
 Amid the floating verdure millions stray. 
Each liquid too, whether of acid taste,
 Potent, or mild, with various forms abounds. 
Nor is the lucid stream, nor the pure air,
 Tho' one transparent vacancy they seem,
 Devoid of theirs. Even animals subsist
 On animals, in infinite descent;
 And all so fine adjusted, that the loss
 Of the least species would disturb the whole. 
Stranger than this th' inspective glass confirms
 And to the curious gives th' amazing scenes
 Of lessening life; by WISDOM kindly hid
 From eye, and ear of man: for if at once
 The worlds in worlds enclos'd were push'd to light,
 Seen by his sharpen'd eye, and by his ear
 Intensely bended heard, from the choice cate,
 The freshest viands, and the brightest wines,
 He'd turn abhorrent, and in dead of night,
 When silence sleeps o'er all, be stun'd with noise. 

THE North-east spends his rage, and now shut up
 Within his iron caves, th' effusive South
 Warms the wide air, and o'er the void of heaven
 Breaths the big clouds with vernal showers distent. 
At first a dusky wreath they seem to rise,
 Scarce staining aether; but by fast degrees,
 In heaps on heaps, the doubling vapour sails
 Along the loaded sky, and mingling thick
 Sits on th' horizon round a settled gloom. 
Not such as wintry storms on mortals shed,
 Oppressing life, but lovely, gentle, kind,
 And full of every hope, and every joy,
 The wish of nature. Gradual sinks the breeze
 Into a perfect calm; that not a breath
 Is heard to quiver thro' the closing woods,
 Or rustling turn the many-twinkling leaves
 Of aspin tall. Th' uncurling floods, diffus'd
 In glassy breadth, seem thro' delusive lapse
 Forgetful of their course. 'Tis silence all,
 And pleasing expectation. Herds and flocks
 Drop the dry sprig, and mute-imploring eye
 The falling verdure. Hush'd in short suspense,
 The plumy people streak their wings with oil,
 And wait th' approaching sign to strike at once
 Into the general choir. Even mountains, vales,
 And forests seem, expansive, to demand
 The promis'd sweetness. Man superior walks
 Amid the glad creation, musing praise,
 And looking lively gratitude. At last
 The clouds consign their treasures to the fields,
 And, softly shaking on the dimply pool
 Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow,
 In large effusion o'er the freshen'd world,
 'Tis scarce to patter heard, the stealing shower,
 By such as wander thro' the forest-walks,
 Beneath th' umbrageous multitude of leaves. 
But who can hold the shade, while HEAVEN descends
 In universal bounty, shedding herbs,
 And fruits, and flowers, on NATURE's ample lap? 
Imagination fir'd prevents their growth,
 And while the verdant nutriment distills,
 Beholds the kindling country colour round. 

THUS all day long the full-distended clouds
 Indulge their genial stores, and well-shower'd earth
 Is deep enrich'd with vegetable life;
 Till, in the western-sky, the downward sun
 Looks out illustrious from amidst the flush
 Of broken clouds, gay-shifting to his beam. 
The rapid radiance instantaneous strikes
 Th' illumin'd mountain thro' the forest streams,
 Shakes on the floods, and in a yellow mist,
 Far smoaking o'er th' interminable plain,
 In twinkling myriads lights the dewy gems. 
Moist, bright, and green, the landskip laughs around. 
Full swell the woods; their every musick wakes,
 Mix'd in wild consort with the warbling brooks
 Increas'd, th'unnumber'd bleatings of the hills,
 The hollow lows responsive from the vales,
 Whence blending all the sweeten'd zephyr springs. 
Mean time refracted from yon eastern cloud,
 Bestriding earth, the grand aethereal bow
 Shoots up immense! and every hue unfolds,
 In fair proportion running from the red,
 To where the violet fades into the sky. 
Here, mighty NEWTON, the dissolving clouds
 Are, as they scatter round, thy numerous prism,
 Untwisting to the philosophic eye
 The various twine of light, by thee pursu'd
 Thro' the white mingling maze. Not so the swain,
 He wondering views the bright enchantment bend,
 Delightful, o'er the radiant fields, and runs
 To catch the falling glory; but amaz'd
 Beholds th' amusive arch before him fly,
 Then vanish quite away. Still night succeeds,
 A soften'd shade, and saturated earth
 Awaits the morning beam, to give again,
 Transmuted soon by Nature's chymistry,
 The blooming blessings of the former day. 

THEN spring the living herbs, profusely wild,
 O'er all the deep-green earth, beyond the power
 Of BOTANIST to number up their tribes;
 Whether he steals along the lonely dale
 In silent search; or thro' the forest, rank
 With what the dull incurious weeds account,
 Bursts his blind way; or climbs the mountain rock,
 Fir'd by the nodding verdure of its brow. 
With such a liberal hand has NATURE flung
 Their seeds abroad, blown them about in winds,
 Innumerous mix'd them with the nursing mold,
 The moistening current, and prolific rain. 

BUT who their virtues can declare? Who pierce
 With vision pure into these secret stores
 Of life, and health, and joy? The food of man
 While yet he liv'd in innocence, and told
 A length of golden years, unflesh'd in blood,
 A stranger to the savage arts of life,
 Death, rapine, carnage, surfeit, and disease,
 The lord, and not the tyrant of the world. 

THEN the glad morning wak'd the gladden'd race
 Of uncorrupted men, nor blush'd to see
 The sluggard sleep beneath her sacred beam. 
For their light slumbers gently fum'd away,
 And up they rose as vigorous as the sun,
 Or to the culture of the willing glebe,
 Or to the chearful tendance of the flock. 
Mean time the song went round; and dance, and sport,
 Wisdom; and friendly talk successive stole
 Their hours away. While in the rosy vale
 Love breath'd his infant sighs, from anguish free,
 Replete with bliss, and only wept for joy. 
Nor yet injurious act, nor surly deed
 Was known among these happy sons of heaven;
 For reason and benevolence were law. 
Harmonious nature too look'd smiling on. 
Clean shone the skies, cool'd with eternal gales,
 And balmy spirit all. The youthful sun
 Shot his best rays; and still the gracious clouds
 Drop'd fatness down; as o'er the swelling mead
 The herds and flocks commixing play'd secure. 
Which when, emergent from the gloomy wood,
 The glaring lion saw, his horrid heart
 Was meeken'd, and he join'd his sullen joy. 
For musick held the whole in perfect peace:
 Soft sigh'd the flute; the tender voice was heard,
 Warbling the joyous heart; the woodlands round
 Apply'd their quire; and winds and waters flow'd
 In consonance. Such were these prime of days. 

THIS to the POETS gave the golden age;
 When, as they sung in elevated phrase,
 The sailor-pine had not the nations yet
 In commerce mix'd; for every country teem'd
 With every thing. Spontaneous harvests wav'd,
 Still in a sea of yellow plenty round. 
The forest was the vineyard, where untaught
 To climb, unprun'd and wild, the juicy grape
 Burst into floods of wine. The knotted oak
 Shook from his boughs the long transparent streams
 Of honey, creeping thro' the matted grass,
 Th' uncultivated thorn a ruddy shower
 Of fruitage shed, on such as sat below,
 In blooming ease, and from brown labour free,
 Save what the copious gathering, grateful gave. 
The Rivers foam'd with nectar; or diffuse,
 Silent, and soft, the milky maze devolv'd. 
Nor had the spongy, full-expanded fleece,
 Yet drunk the TYRIAN dye. The stately ram
 Shone thro' the mead, in native purple clad,
 Or milder saffron; and the dancing lamb
 The vivid crimson to the sun disclos'd. 
Nothing had power to hurt the savage soul,
 Yet untransfus'd into the tyger's heart,
 Burn'd not his bowels, nor his gamesome paw
 Drove on the fleecy partners of his play:
 While from the flowery brake the serpent roll'd
 His fairer spires, and play'd his pointless tongue. 

BUT now whate'er these gaudy fables meant,
 And the white minutes which they shadow'd out,
 Are found no more amid those iron times,
 Those dregs of life! in which the human mind
 Has lost that harmony ineffable,
 Which warms the soul of happiness; and all
 Is off the poise within; the passions all
 Have burst their bounds; and reason half extinct,
 Or impotent, or else approving, sees
 The foul disorder. Anger storms at large,
 Without an equal cause; and fell revenge
 Supports the falling rage. Close envy bites
 With venom'd tooth; while weak, unmanly fear,
 Full of frail fancies, loosens every power. 
Even love itself is bitterness of soul,
 A pleasing anguish pining at the heart. 
Hope sickens with extravagance; and grief,
 Of life impatient, into madness swells;
 Or in dead silence wastes the weeping hours. 
These, and a thousand mix'd emotions more,
 From ever-changing views of good and ill,
 Form'd infinitely various, vex the mind
 With endless storm. Whence, inly-rankling, grows
 The selfish thought, a listless inconcern,
 Cold, and averting from our neighbour's good;
 Then dark disgust, and malice, winding wiles,
 Sneaking deceit, and coward villany:
 At last deep-rooted hatred, lewd reproach,
 Convulsive wrath, and thoughtless fury, quick
 To deeds of vilest aim. Even nature's self
 Is deem'd, vindictive, to have chang'd her course. 

HENCE in old time, they say, a deluge came;
 When the disparting orb of earth, that arch'd
 Th' imprison'd deep around, impetuous rush'd,
 With ruin inconceivable, at once
 Into the gulph, and o'er the highest hills
 Wide-dash'd the waves, in undulation vast:
 'Till, from the centre to the streaming clouds,
 A shoreless ocean tumbled round the globe. 

THE SEASONS since, as hoar TRADITION tells,
 Have kept their constant chase; the WINTER keen
 Pour'd out his waste of snows; and SUMMER shot
 His pestilential heats; great SPRING before
 Green'd all the year; and fruits and blossoms blush'd
 In social sweetness on the self-same bough. 
Clear was the temperate air; an even calm
 Perpetual reign'd, save what the zephyrs bland
 Breath'd o'er the blue expanse; for then nor storms
 Were taught to blow, nor hurricanes to rage;
 Sound slept the waters: no sulphureous glooms
 Swell'd in the sky, and sent the lightning forth:
 While sickly damps, and cold autumnal fogs,
 Sat not pernicious on the springs of life. 
But now, from clear to cloudy, moist to dry,
 And hot to cold, in restless change revolv'd,
 Our drooping days are dwindled down to nought,
 The fleeting shadow of a winter's sun. 

AND yet the wholesome herb neglected dies
 In lone obscurity, unpriz'd for food;
 Altho' the pure, exhilerating soul
 Of nutriment, and health, salubrious breathes,
 By HEAVEN infus'd, along its secret tubes. 
For, with hot ravine fir'd, ensanguin'd man
 Is now become the lion of the plain,
 And worse. The wolf, who from the nightly fold
 Fierce-drags the bleating prey, ne'er drunk her milk,
 Nor wore her warming fleece: nor has the steer,
 At whose strong chest the deadly tyger hangs,
 E'er plow'd for him. They too are temper'd high,
 With hunger stung, and wild necessity,
 Nor lodges pity in their shaggy breasts. 
But MAN, whom NATURE form'd of milder clay,
 With every kind emotion in his heart,
 And taught alone to weep; while from her lap
 She pours ten thousand delicacies, herbs,
 And fruits, as numerous as the drops of rain,
 And beams that gave them birth: shall he, fair form! 
Who wears sweet smiles, and looks erect on heaven,
 E'er stoop to mingle with the prowling herd,
 And dip his tongue in blood? The beast of prey,
 'Tis true, deserves the fate in which he deals. 
Him, from the thicket, let the hardy youth
 Provoke, and foaming thro' the awakened woods
 With every nerve pursue. But you, ye flocks,
 What have ye done? Ye peaceful people, what,
 To merit death? You, who have given us milk
 In luscious streams, and lent us your own coat
 Against the winter's cold? Whose usefulness
 In living only lies? And the plain ox,
 That harmless, honest, guileless animal,
 In what has he offended? He, whose toil,
 Patient and ever-ready; clothes the land
 With all the pomp of harvest; shall he bleed,
 And wrestling groan beneath the cruel hands
 Even of the clowns he feeds? And that perhaps
 To swell the riot of the gathering feast,
 Won by his labour? Thus the feeling heart
 Would tenderly suggest: but 'tis enough,
 In this late age, adventurous to have touch'd,
 Light on the numbers of the SAMIAN sage. 
High HEAVEN beside forbids the daring strain,
 Whose wisest will has fix'd us in a state,
 That must not yet to pure perfection rise. 

BUT yonder breathing prospect bids the muse
 Throw all her beauty forth, that daubing all
 Will be to what I gaze; for who can paint
 Like NATURE? Can IMAGINATION boast,
 Amid his gay creation, hues like hers? 
And can he mix them with that matchless skill,
 And lay them on so delicately fine,
 And lose them in each other, as appears
 In every bud that blows? If fancy then
 Unequal fails beneath the lovely task;
 Ah what shall language do? Ah where find words
 Ting'd with so many colours? And whose power
 To life approaching, may perfume my lays
 With that fine oil, these aromatic gales,
 Which inexhaustive flow continual round? 

YET, tho' successless, will the toil delight. 
Come then, ye virgins, and ye youths, whose hearts
 Have felt the raptures of refining love;
 Oh come, and while the rosy-footed MAY
 Steals blushing on, together let us walk
 The morning dews, and gather in their prime
 Fresh-blooming flowers, to deck the braided hair,
 And the white bosom that improves their sweets. 

SEE, where the winding vale her lavish stores,
 Irriguous, spreads. See, how the lilly drinks
 The latent rill, scarce oozing thro' the grass
 Of growth luxuriant; or the humid bank
 Profusely climbs. Turgent, in every pore
 The gummy moisture shines; new lustre lends,
 And feeds the spirit that diffusive round
 Refreshes ail the dale. Long let us walk,
 Where the breeze blows from yon extended field
 Of blossom'd beans: ARABIA cannot boast
 A fuller gale of joy than, liberal, thence
 Breathes thro' the sense, and takes the ravish'd soul. 
Nor is the meadow worthless of our foot,
 Full of fresh verdure, and unnumber'd flowers,
 The negligence of NATURE, wide, and wild;
 Where undisguis'd by mimic ART, she spreads
 Unbounded beauty to the boundless eye. 
'Tis here that their delicious task the bees,
 In swarming millions, tend. Around, athwart,
 This way, and that, the busy nations fly,
 Cling to the bud, and with inserted tube,
 Its soul, its sweetness, and its manna suck. 
The little chymist thus, all-moving HEAVEN
 Has taught: and oft, of bolder wing, he dares
 The purple heath, or where the wild-thyme grows,
 And yellow loads him with the luscious spoil. 

AT length the finish'd garden to the view
 Its vistas opens, and its alleys green. 
Snatch'd thro' the verdant maze, the hurried eye
 Distracted wanders; now the bowery walk
 Of covert close, where scarce a speck of day
 Falls on the lengthen'd gloom, protracted darts;
 Now meets the bending sky, the river now
 Dimpling along, the breezy-ruffled lake,
 The forest running round, the rising spire,
 Th' aethereal mountain, and the distant main. 
But why so far excursive? when at hand,
 Along the blushing borders, dewy-bright,
 And in yon mingled wilderness of flowers,
 Fair-handed SPRING unbosoms every grace;
 Throws out the snow-drop, and the crocus first,
 The daily, primrose, violet darkly blue,
 Dew-bending cowslips, and of nameless dyes
 Anemonies, auriculas a tribe
 Peculiar powder'd with a shining sand,
 Renunculas, and iris many-hued. 
Then comes the tulip-race, where beauty plays
 Her gayest freaks: from family diffus'd
 To family, as flies the father-dust,
 The varied colours run; and while they BREAK
 On the charm'd FLORIST's eye, he curious stands,
 And new-flush'd glories all ecstatic marks. 
Nor hyacinths are wanting, nor junquils
 Of potent fragrance, nor narcissus white,
 Nor stripe'd carnations, nor enamell'd pinks,
 And shower'd from every bush the damask-rose. 
Infinite numbers, delicacies, smells,
 With hues on hues expression cannot paint,
 The breath of NATURE, and her endless bloom. 

HAIL, MIGHTY BEING! UNIVERSAL SOUL
 Of heaven and earth! ESSENTIAL PRESENCE, hail! 
To THEE I bend the knee; to THEE my thoughts
 Continual climb; who, with a master-hand,
 Hast the great whole into perfection touch'd. 
By THEE, the various vegetative tribes,
 Wrapt in a filmy net, and clad with leaves,
 Draw the live aether, and imbibe the dew. 
By THEE dispos'd into congenial soils,
 Stands each attractive plant, and sucks, and swells
 The juicy tide; a twining mass of tubes. 
At THY command, the vernal sun awakes
 The torpid sap, detruded to the root
 By wintry winds, that now, in fluent dance,
 And lively fermentation, mounting, spreads
 All this innumerous-colour'd scene of things. 

ASCENDING from the vegetable world
 To higher life, with equal wing ascend,
 My panting Muse; and hark, how loud the woods
 Invite you forth in all your gayest trim. 
Lend me your song, ye nightingales! oh pour
 The mazy-running soul of melody
 Into my varied verse! while I deduce,
 From the first note the hollow cuckoo sings,
 The symphony of SPRING, and touch a theme
 Unknown to fame, THE PASSION OF THE GROVES. 

JUST as the spirit of love is sent abroad,
 Warm thro' the vital air, and on their hearts
 Harmonious seizes, the gay troops begin,
 In gallant thought, to plume the painted wing;
 And try again the long-forgotten strain,
 At first faint-warbled. But no sooner grows
 The soft infusion prevalent, and wide,
 Than, all alive, at once their joy o'erflows
 In musick unconfin'd. Up-springs the lark,
 Shrill-voiced, and loud, the messenger of morn;
 E'er yet the shadows fly, he mounted sings
 Amid the dawning clouds, and from their haunts
 Calls up the tuneful nations. Every copse
 Thick-wove, and tree irregular, and bush
 Bending with dewy moisture, o'er the heads
 Of the coy quiristers that lodge within,
 Are prodigal of harmony. The thrush
 And wood-lark, o'er the kind-contending throng
 Superior heard, run thro' the sweetest length
 Of notes; when listening PHILOMELA deigns
 To let them joy, and purposes, in thought
 Elate, to make her night excel their day. 
The black-bird whistles from the thorny brake;
 The mellow bull-finch answers from the grove:
 Nor are the linnets, o'er the flowering furze
 Pour'd out profusely, silent. Join'd to these
 Thousands beside, thick as the covering leaves
 They warble under, or the nitid hues
 That speck them o'er, their modulations mix
 Mellifluous. The jay, the rook, the daw,
 And each harsh pipe, discordant heard alone,
 Here aid the consort: while the stock-dove breathes
 A melancholy murmur thro' the whole. 

'TIS love creates their gaiety, and all
 This waste of musick is the voice of love;
 Which even to birds, and beasts, the tender arts
 Of pleasing teaches. Hence the glossy kind
 Try every winning way inventive love
 Can dictate, and in fluttering courtship pour
 Their little souls before her. Wide around,
 Respectful, first in airy rings they rove,
 Endeavouring by a thousand tricks to catch
 The cunning, conscious, half-averted glance
 Of their regardless charmer. Should she seem
 Softening the least approvance to bestow,
 Their colours burnish, and by hope inspir'd
 They brisk advance; then on a sudden struck
 Retire disorder'd; then again approach;
 And throwing out the last efforts of love,
 In fond rotation spread the spotted wing,
 And shiver every feather with desire. 

CONNUBIAL leagues agreed, to the deep woods
 They haste away, each as their fancy leads,
 Pleasure, or food, or secret safety prompts;
 That NATURE's great command may be obey'd,
 Nor all the sweet sensations they perceive
 Indulg'd in vain. Some to the holly-hedge
 Nestling repair, and to the thicket some;
 Some to the rude protection of the thorn
 Resolve to trust their young. The clested tree
 Offers its kind concealment to a few,
 Their food its insects, and its moss their nests. 
Others apart far in the grassy dale
 Their humble texture weave. But most delight
 In unfrequented glooms, or shaggy banks,
 Steep, and divided by a babbling brook,
 Whose murmurs sooth them all the live-long day,
 When for a season fix'd. Among the roots
 Of hazel, pendant o'er the plaintive stream,
 They frame the first foundation of their domes,
 Dry sprigs of trees, in artful manner laid,
 And bound with clay together. Now 'tis nought
 But hurry hurry thro' the busy air,
 Beat by unnumber'd wings. The swallow sweeps
 The slimy pool, to build his hanging house
 Ingeniously intent. Oft from the back
 Of herds and flocks a thousand tugging bills
 Pluck hair, and wool; and oft, when unobserv'd,
 Steal from the barn the straw; till soft, and warm,
 Clean, and compleat, their habitation grows. 

As thus the patient dam assiduous sits,
 Not to be tempted from her tender task,
 Or by sharp hunger, or by smooth delight,
 Tho' the whole loosen'd Spring around her blows,
 Her sympathizing lover takes his stand
 High on th'opponent bank, and ceaseless sings
 The tedious time away; or else supplies
 Her place a moment, while she sudden flits
 To pick the scanty meal. Th' appointed time
 With pious toil fulfill'd, the callow young
 Warm'd, and expanded into perfect life,
 Their brittle bondage break, and come to light,
 A helpless family, demanding food
 With constant clamour. Oh what passions then,
 What melting sentiments of kindly care
 Seize the new parents' hearts? Away they fly
 Affectionate, and undesiring bear
 The most delicious morsel to their young,
 Which equally distributed, again
 The search begins. So pitiful, and poor,
 A gentle pair on providential HEAVEN
 Cast, as they weeping eye their clamant train,
 Check their own appetites, and give them all. 

NOR is the courage of the fearful kind,
 Nor is their cunning less, should some rude foot
 Their woody haunts molest; stealthy aside
 Into the centre of a neighbouring bush
 They drop, and whirring thence alarm'd, deceive
 The rambling school-boy. Hence around the head
 Of traveller, the white-wing'd plover wheels
 Her sounding flight, and then directly on
 In long excursion skims the level lawn,
 To tempt you from her nest. The wild-duck hence
 O'er the rough moss, and o'er the trackless waste
 The heath-hen flutters, as if hurt, to lead
 The hot pursuing spaniel far astray. 

BE not the muse asham'd, here to bemoan
 Her brothers of the grove, by tyrant man
 Inhuman caught, and in the narrow cage
 From liberty confin'd, and boundless air. 
Dull are the pretty slaves, their plumage dull,
 Ragged, and all its brightning lustre lost;
 Nor is that luscious wildness in their notes
 That warbles from the beech. Oh then desist,
 Ye friends of harmony! this barbarous art
 Forbear, if innocence and musick can
 Win on your hearts, or piety persuade. 

BUT let not chief the nightingale lament
 Her ruin'd care, too delicately fram'd
 To brook the harsh confinement of the cage. 
Oft when returning with her loaded bill,
 Th' astonish'd mother finds a vacant nest,
 By the hard hand of unrelenting clowns
 Robb'd, to the ground the vain provision falls;
 Her pinions ruffle, and low-drooping scarce
 Can bear the mourner to the poplar shade;
 Where, all abandon'd to despair, she sings
 Her sorrows thro' the night; and, on the bough
 Sad-sitting, still at every dying fall
 Takes up again her lamentable strain
 Of winding woe, till wide around the woods
 Sigh with her song, and with her wail resound. 

AND now the feather'd youth their former bounds
 Ardent disdain, and weighing oft their wings,
 Demand the free possession of the sky. 
But this glad office more, and then dissolves
 Parental love at once; for needless grown,
 Unlavish WISDOM never works in vain. 
'Tis on some evening, sunny, grateful, mild,
 When nought but balm is breathing thro' the woods,
 With yellow lustre bright, that the new tribes
 Visit the spacious heavens, and look abroad
 On NATURE's common, far as they can see,
 Or wing, their range, and pasture. O'er the boughs
 Dancing about, still at the giddy verge
 Their resolution fails; their pinions still,
 In loose libration stretch'd, the void abrupt
 Trembling refuse: till down before them fly
 The parent-guides, and chide, exhort, command,
 Or push them off. The surging air receives
 The plumy burden; and their self-taught wings
 Winnow the waving element. On ground
 Alighted, bolder up again they lead
 Farther and farther on the lengthning flight;
 Till vanish'd every fear, and every power
 Rouz'd into life, and action in the void
 Th' exoner'd parents see their soaring race,
 And once rejoicing never know them more. 

HIGH from the summit of a craggy cliff,
 Hung o'er the green sea, grudging at its base,
 The royal eagle draws his young, resolv'd
 To try them at the sun. Strong-pounc'd, and bright
 As burnish'd day, they up the blue sky wind,
 Leaving dull sight below, and with fix'd gaze
 Drink in their native noon: the father-king
 Claps his glad pinions, and approves the birth. 

AND should I wander to the rural fear,
 Whose aged oaks, and venerable gloom,
 Invite the noisy rook; with pleasure there,
 I might the various polity survey
 Of the mixt houshold kind. The careful hen
 Calls all her chirping family around,
 Fed, and defended by the fearless cock,
 Whose breast with ardour flames, as on he walks
 Graceful, and crows defiance. In the pond,
 The finely-checker'd duck, before her train,
 Rows garrulous. The stately-sailing swan
 Gives out his snowy plumage to the gale,
 And, arching proud his neck, with oary feet
 Bears forward fierce, and beats you from the bank,
 Protective of his young. The turkey nigh,
 Loud-threatning, reddens; while the peacock spreads
 His every-colour'd glory to the sun,
 And swims in floating majesty along. 
O'er the whole homely scene, the cooing dove
 Flies thick in amorous chace, and wanton rolls
 The glancing eye, and turns the changeful neck. 

WHILE thus the gentle tenants of the shade
 Indulge their purer loves, the rougher world
 Of brutes below, rush furious into flame,
 And fierce desire. Thro' all his lusty veins
 The bull, deep-scorch'd, receives the raging fire. 
Of pasture sick, and negligent of food,
 Scarce seen, he wades among the yellow broom,
 While o'er his brawny back the rambling sprays
 Luxuriant shoot; or thro' the mazy wood
 Dejected wanders, nor th' inticing bud
 Crops, tho' it presses on his careless sense:
 For, wrapt in mad imagination, he
 Roars for the fight, and idly butting, feigns
 A rival gor'd in every knotty trunk. 
Such should he meet, the bellowing war begins;
 Their eyes flash fury; to the hollow'd earth,
 Whence the sand flies, they mutter bloody deeds,
 And groaning vast th' impetuous battle mix:
 While the fair heifer, redolent, in view
 Stands kindling up their rage. The trembling steed,
 With this hot impulse seiz'd in every nerve,
 Nor hears the rein, nor heeds the sounding whip;
 Blows are not felt; but tossing high his head,
 And by the well-known joy, to distant plains
 Attracted strong, all wild, he bursts away;
 O'er rocks, and woods, and craggy mountains flies,
 And neighing, on the aerial summit takes
 Th' informing gale; then steep-descending, cleaves
 The headlong torrents foaming down the hills,
 Even where the madness of the straiten'd streams
 Turns in black eddies round: Such is the force
 With which his frantick heart, and sinews swell. 

NOR, undelighted by the boundless SPRING,
 Are the broad monsters of the boiling deep:
 From the deep ooze, and gelid cavern rous'd,
 They flounce, and tumble in unwieldy joy. 
Dire were the strain, and dissonant, to sing
 The cruel raptures of the savage kind:
 How the red lioness, her whelps forgot
 Amid the thoughtless fury of her heart;
 The lank rapacious wolf; th' unshapely bear;
 The spotted tyger, fellest of the fell;
 And all the terrors of the LIBYAN swain,
 By this new flame their native wrath sublim'd,
 Roam the resounding waste in fiercer bands,
 And growl their horrid loves. But this the theme
 I sing, transported, to the BRITISH fair,
 Forbids, and leads me to the mountain-brow,
 Where sits the shepherd on the grassy turf,
 Inhaling, healthful, the descending sun. 
Around him feeds his many-bleating flock
 Of various cadence; and his sportive lambs,
 This way, and that, convolv'd in friskful glee,
 Their little frolicks play. And now the race
 Invites them forth; when swift the signal given,
 They start away, and sweep the massy mound
 That runs around the hill; the rampart once
 Of iron war, in ancient barbarous times,
 When disunited BRITAIN ever bled,
 Lost in eternal broil; e'er yet she grew
 To this deep-laid, indissoluble state,
 Where WEALTH and COMMERCE lift their golden head,
 And o'er our Labours, LIBERTY and LAW
 Illustrious watch, the wonder of a world! 

WHAT is this MIGHTY BREATH, ye curious say,
 Which, in a language rather felt than heard,
 Instructs the fowls of heaven; and thro' their breasts
 These arts of love diffuses? What, but GOD? 
Inspiring GOD! who boundless spirit all,
 And unremitted energy pervades,
 Adjusts, sustains, and agitates the whole. 
He ceaseless works alone, and yet alone
 Seems not to work, with such perfection fram'd
 Is this complex, amazing scheme of things. 
But tho' conceal'd, to every purer eye
 Th' informing author in his work appears;
 His grandeur in the heavens: the sun, and moon,
 Whether that fires the day, or falling, this
 Pours out a lucid softness o'er the night,
 Are but a beam from him. The glittering stars,
 By the deep ear of meditation heard,
 Still in their midnight watches sing of him. 
He nods a calm. The tempest blows his wrath,
 Roots up the forest and o'erturns the main. 
The thunder is his voice; and the red flash
 His speedy sword of justice. At his touch
 The mountains flame. He takes the solid earth,
 And rocks the nations. Nor in these alone,
 In every common instance GOD is seen;
 And to the man who casts his mental eye
 Abroad unnotic'd wonders rise. But chief
 In thee, boon SPRING, and in thy softer scenes,
 The SMILING GOD appears; while water, earth,
 And air attest his bounty, which instils
 Into the brutes this temporary thought,
 And annual melts their undesigning hearts
 Profusely thus in tenderness, and joy. 

STILL let my song a nobler note assume,
 And sing th' infusive force of SPRING on man;
 When heaven and earth, as if contending, vie
 To raise his being, and serene his soul,
 Can he forbear to smile with NATURE? Can
 The stormy passions in his bosom rowl,
 While every gale is peace, and every grove
 Is melody? Hence, from the bounteous walks
 Of flowing SPRING, ye sordid sons of earth,
 Hard, and unfeeling, of another's woe,
 Or only lavish to yourselves; away. 
But come, ye generous breasts, in whose wide thought,
 Of all his works, CREATIVE BOUNTY, most,
 Divinely burns; and on your open front,
 And liberal eye, sits, from his dark retreat
 Inviting modest want. Nor only fair,
 And easy of approach; your active search
 Leaves no cold wintry corner unexplor'd,
 Like silent-working HEAVEN, surprizing oft
 The lonely heart with unexpected good. 
For you the roving spirit of the wind
 Blows SPRING abroad; for you the teaming clouds
 Descend in buxom plenty o'er the world;
 And the sun spreads his genial blaze for you,
 Ye flower of human race! In these green days,
 Sad-pining sickness lifts her languid head;
 Life flows afresh; and young-ey'd health exalts
 The whole creation round. Contentment walks
 The sunny glade, and feels an inward bliss
 Spring o'er his mind, beyond the power of kings
 To purchase. Pure serenity apace
 Induces thought, and contemplation still. 
By small degrees the love of nature works,
 And warms the bosom; till at last arriv'd
 To rapture, and enthusiastic heat,
 We feel the present DEITY, and taste
 The joy of GOD, to see a happy world. 

'TIS HARMONY, that world-attuning power,
 By which all beings are adjusted, each
 To all around, impelling, and impell'd,
 In endless circulation, that inspires
 This universal smile. Thus the glad skies,
 The wide rejoycing earth, the woods, the streams,
 With every LIFE they hold, down to the flower
 That paints the lowly vale, or insect-wing
 Wav'd o'er the shepherd's slumber, touch the mind
 To nature tun'd, with a light-flying hand,
 Invisible; quick-urging, thro' the nerves,
 The glittering spirits in a flood of day. 

HENCE from the virgin's check, a fresher bloom
 Shoots, less and less, the live carnation round;
 Her lips blush deeper sweets; she breathes of youth;
 The shining moisture swells into her eyes,
 In brighter flow; her wishing bosom heaves
 With palpitations wild; kind tumults seize
 Her veins, and all her yielding soul is love. 
From the keen gaze her lover turns away,
 Full of the dear ecstatic power, and sick
 With sighing languishment. Ah then, ye fair! 
Be greatly cautious of your sliding hearts;
 Dare not th' infectious sigh; the pleading eye,
 In meek submission drest, deject, and low,
 But full of tempting guile. Let not the tongue,
 Prompt to deceive, with adulation smooth,
 Gain on your purpos'd wills. Nor in the bower,
 Where woodbines flaunt, and roses shed a couch,
 While evening draws her crimson curtains round,
 Trust your soft minutes with betraying man. 

AND let th' aspiring youth beware of love,
 Of the smooth glance beware; for 'tis too late,
 When on his heart the torrent softness pours. 
Then wisdom prostrate lies; and fading fame
 Dissolves in air away: while the fond soul
 Is wrapt in dreams of ecstacy, and bliss;
 Still paints th' illusive form; the kindling grace;
 Th' inticing smile; the modest-seeming eye,
 Beneath whose beauteous beams, belying heaven,
 Lurk searchless cunning, cruelty, and death:
 And still, false-warbling in his cheated ear,
 Her syren voice, enchanting, draws him on,
 To guileful shores, and meads of fatal joy. 

EVEN present in the very lap of love
 Inglorious laid; while musick flows around,
 Perfumes, and oils, and wine, and wanton hours,
 Amid the roses fierce Repentance rears
 Her snaky crest: a quick returning twinge
 Shoots thro' the conscious heart; where honour still,
 And great design against th' oppressive load
 Of luxury, by fits, impatient heave. 

BUT absent, what fantastick pangs arrous'd,
 Rage in each thought, by restless musing fed,
 Chill the warm cheek, and blast the bloom of life? 
Neglected fortune flies; and sliding swift,
 Prone into ruin, fall his scorn'd affairs. 
'Tis nought but gloom around. The darken'd sun
 Loses his light. The rosy-bosom'd SPRING
 To weeping fancy pines; and yon bright arch
 Of heaven, low-bends into a dusky vault. 
All nature fades extinct; and she alone
 Heard, felt, and seen, possesses every thought,
 Fills every sense, and pants in every vein. 
Books are but formal dulness, tedious Friends,
 And sad amid the social band he sits,
 Lonely and inattentive. From the tongue
 Th' unfinish'd period falls: while, borne away
 On swelling thought, his wafted spirit flies
 To the vain bosom of his distant fair;
 And leaves the semblance of a lover, fix'd
 In melancholy site, with head declin'd,
 And love-dejected eyes. Sudden he starts,
 Shook from his tender trance, and restless runs
 To glimmering shades, and sympathetick glooms,
 Where the dun umbrage o'er the falling stream
 Romantic hangs; there thro' the pensive dusk
 Strays, in heart-thrilling meditation lost,
 Indulging all to love: or on the bank
 Thrown, amid drooping lillies, swells the breeze
 With sighs unceasing, and the brook with tears. 
Thus in soft anguish he consumes the day,
 Nor quits his deep retirement, till the moon
 Peeps thro' the chambers of the fleecy east,
 Enlighten'd by degrees, and in her train
 Leads on the gentle hours; then forth he walks,
 Beneath the trembling languish of her beams,
 With soften'd soul, and wooes the bird of eve
 To mingle woes with his: or while the world,
 And all the sons of care, lie hush'd in sleep,
 Associates with the midnight shadows drear;
 And, sighing to the lonely taper, pours
 His idly-tortur'd heart into the page,
 Meant for the moving messenger of love;
 Where rapture burns on rapture, every line
 With rising frenzy fir'd. But if on bed
 Delirious flung, sleep from his pillow flies. 
All night he tosses, nor the balmy power
 In any posture finds; till the grey morn
 Lifts her pale lustre on the paler wretch,
 Exanimate by love: and then perhaps
 Exhausted nature sinks a while to rest,
 Still interrupted by distracted dreams,
 That o'er the sick imagination rise,
 And in black colours paint the mimick scene. 
Oft with th' enchantress of his soul he talks;
 Sometimes in crouds distress'd; or if retir'd
 To secret-winding, flower-enwoven bowers,
 Far from the dull impertinence of man,
 Just as he, credulous, his thousand cares
 Begins to lose in blind oblivious love,
 Snatch'd from her yielded hand, he knows not how,
 Thro' forests huge, and long untravel'd heaths
 With desolation brown, he wanders waste,
 In night and tempest wrapt; or shrinks aghast,
 Back, from the bending precipice; or wades
 The turbid stream below, and strives to reach
 The farther shore; where succourless, and sad,
 Wild as a Bacchanal she spreads her arms,
 But strives in vain, borne by th' outragious flood
 To distance down, he rides the ridgy wave,
 Or whelm'd beneath the boiling eddy sinks. 
Then a weak, wailing lamentable cry
 Is heard, and all in tears he wakes, again
 To tread the circle of revolving woe. 
These are the charming agonies of love,
 Whose misery delights. But thro' the heart
 Should jealousy its venom once diffuse,
 'Tis then delightful misery no more,
 But agony unmix'd, incessant rage,
 Corroding every thought, and blasting all
 Love's paradise. Ye fairy prospects then
 Ye beds of roses, and ye bowers of joy,
 Farewell! Ye gleamings of departing peace,
 Shine out your last! the yellow tinging plague
 Internal vision taints, and in a night
 Of livid gloom imagination wraps. 
Ay then instead of love-enliven'd cheeks,
 Of funny features, and of ardent eyes
 With flowing raptures bright, dark looks succeed,
 Suffus'd, and glaring with untender fire,
 A clouded aspect, and a burning cheek,
 Where the whole poison'd soul, malignant, sits,
 And frightens love away. Ten thousand fears
 Invented wild, ten thousand frantick views
 Of horrid rivals, hanging on the charms
 For which he melts in fondness, eat him up
 With fervent anguish, and consuming pine. 
In vain reproaches lend their idle aid,
 Deceitful pride, and resolution frail,
 Giving a moment's ease. Reflection pours,
 Afresh, her beauties on his busy thought,
 Her first endearments, twining round the soul,
 With all the witchcraft of ensnaring love. 

Strait the fierce storm involves his mind anew,
 Flames thro' the nerves, and boils along the veins;
 While anxious doubt distracts the tortur'd heart;
 For even the sad assurance of his fears
 Were peace to what he feels. Thus the warm youth,
 Whom love deludes into his thorny wilds,
 Thro' flowery-tempting paths, or leads a life
 Of feaver'd rapture, or of cruel care;
 His brightest aims extinguish'd all, and all
 His lively moments running down to waste. 

BUT happy they! the happiest of their kind! 
Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate
 Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend. 
'Tis not the coarser tie of human laws,
 Unnatural oft, and foreign to the mind,
 That binds their peace, but harmony itself,
 Attuning all their passions into love;
 Where friendship full-exerts his softest power,
 Perfect esteem enliven'd by desire
 Ineffable, and sympathy of soul,
 Thought meeting thought, and will preventing will,
 With boundless confidence; for nought but love
 Can answer love, and render bliss secure. 
Let him, ungenerous, who, alone intent
 To bless himself, from sordid parents buys
 The loathing virgin, in eternal care,
 Well-merited, consume his nights and days:
 Let barbarous nations, whose inhuman love
 Is wild desire, fierce as the suns they feel;
 Let eastern tyrants from the light of heaven
 Seclude their bosom-slaves, meanly possess'd
 Of a meer, lifeless, violated form:
 While those whom love cements, in holy faith,
 And equal transport, free as nature, live,
 Disdaining fear; for what's the world to them,
 Its pomp, its pleasure, and its nonsense all! 
Who in each other clasp whatever fair
 High fancy forms, and lavish hearts can wish,
 Something than beauty dearer, should they look
 Or on the mind, or mind-illumin'd face,
 Truth, goodness, honour, harmony, and love,
 The richest bounty of indulgent HEAVEN. 
Mean-time a smiling Offspring rises round,
 And mingles both their graces. By degrees,
 The human blossom blows; and every day,
 Soft as it rolls along, shews some new charm,
 The father's lustre, and the mother's bloom. 
Then infant reason grows apace, and calls
 For the kind hand of an assiduous care:
 Delightful task! to rear the tender thought,
 To teach the young idea how to shoot,
 To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind,
 To breathe th' inspiring spirit, and to plant
 The generous purpose in the glowing breast. 
Oh speak the joy! you whom the sudden tear
 Surprizes often, while you look around,
 And nothing strikes your eye but sights of bliss,
 All various nature pressing on the heart,
 Obedient fortune, and approving HEAVEN. 
These are the blessings of diviner love;
 And thus their moments fly. The seasons thus,
 As ceaseleless round a jarring world they roll,
 Still find them happy; and consenting SPRING
 Sheds her own rosy garland on their head:
 Till evening comes at last, cool, gentle, calm;
 When after the long vernal day of life,
 Enamour'd more, as soul approaches soul,
 Together, down they sink in social sleep.