[The Seasons:] AUTUMN.

[ The Seasons : ] AUTUMN . CROWN'D with the sickle , and the wheaten shear , While Autumn , nodding o'er the yellow plain , Comes jovial on ; the doric reed once more , Well-pleas'd , I tune . Whate'er the wintry frost Nitrous prepar'd ; the various-blossom'd Spring Put in white promise forth ; and Summer-Suns Concocted strong , rush boundless now to view , Full , perfect all , and swell my glorious theme . Onslow ! the muse , ambitious of thy name , To grace , inspire , and dignify her song , Would from the public voice thy gentle ear A while engage . Thy noble cares she knows , The patriot-virtues that distend thy thought , Spread on thy front , and in thy conduct glow ; While listening senates hang upon thy tongue , Devolving thro' the maze of eloquence A rowl of periods , sweeter than her song . But she too pants for public virtue , she , Tho' weak of power , yet strong in ardent will , Whene'er her country rushes on her heart , Assumes a bolder note , and fondly tries To mix the patriot's with the poet's flame . When the bright Virgin gives the beauteous days , And Libra weighs in equal scales the year ; From heaven's high cope the fierce effulgence shook Of parting Summer , a serener blue , With golden light irradiate , wide invests The happy world . Attemper'd suns arise , Sweet-beam'd , and shedding oft thro' lucid clouds A pleasing calm ; while broad , and brown , below , Unbounded harvests hang the heavy head . Rich , silent , deep , they stand ; for not a gale Rolls its light billows o'er the bending plain ; A calm of plenty ! till the ruffled air Falls from its poise , and gives the breeze to blow . Rent is the fleecy mantle of the sky ; The clouds fly different ; and the sudden sun By fits effulgent gilds th' illumin'd field , And black by fits the shadows sweep along . A gayly checker'd , wide-extended view , Far as the circling eye can shoot around , Convolv'd , and tossing in a flood of corn . These are thy blessings Industry ! rough Power ! Whom Labour still attends , and Sweat , and Pain ; Yet the kind source of every gentle art , And all the soft civility of life : Raiser of human kind ! by Nature cast , Naked , and helpless , out amid the woods , And wilds , to rude inclement elements ; With various powers of deep efficiency Implanted , and profusely pour'd around Materials infinite ; but idle all . Still unexerted , in th' unconscious breast , Slept the lethargic powers ; Corruption still , Voracious , swallow'd what the liberal hand Of Bounty scatter'd o'er the savage year . And still the sad barbarian , roving , mix'd With beasts of prey ; or for his acron-meal Fought the fierce tusky boar : a shivering wretch ! Aghast , and comfortless , when the red north , With winter charg'd , let the mixt tempest fly , Hail , rain , and snow , and bitter-breathing frost . Then to the shelter of the hut he fled ; And the wild season , sordid , pin'd away . For home he had not ; home is the resort Of love , of joy , of peace , and plenty , where , Supporting and supported , polish'd friends , And dear relations mingle into bliss . But this the rugged savage never felt , Even desolate in crouds ; and thus his days Roll'd heavy , dark , and unenjoy'd along ; A waste of time ! till Industry approach'd , And rous'd him from his miserable sloth ; His faculties unfolded ; pointed out , Where lavish Nature the directing hand Of Art demanded ; shew'd him how to raise His feeble force by the mechanic powers , To dig the mineral from the vaulted earth , On what to turn the piercing rage of fire , On what the torrent , and the gather'd blast ; Gave the tall antient forest to his ax ; Taught him to chip the wood , and hew the stone , Till by degrees the finish'd fabric rose ; Tore from his limbs the blood-polluted fur , And wrapt them in the woolly vestment warm , Or bright in glossy silk , and flowing lawn ; With wholesome viands fill'd his table , pour'd The generous glass around , inspir'd , to wake The life-refining soul of decent wit : Nor stopp'd at barren , bare necessity ; But still advancing bolder , led him on , By hardy patience , and experience slow , To pomp , to pleasure , elegance , and grace ; And breathing high ambition thro' his soul , Set science , wisdom , glory in his view , And bad him be the Lord of all below . Then gathering men their natural powers combin'd , And form'd a Public ; to the general good Submitting , aiming , and conducting all . For this the Patriot-Council met , the full , The free , and fairly represented Whole , For this devis'd the holy guardian laws , Distinguish'd orders , animated Arts , And with joint force Oppression chaining , set Imperial Justice at the helm ; yet still To them accountable : nor slavish dream'd That toiling millions must resign their weal , And all the honey of their search , to such As for themselves alone themselves have rais'd . Hence every form of cultivated life In order set , protected , and inspir'd , Into perfection wrought . Uniting all , Society grew numerous , high , polite , And happy . Nurse of art ! the city rose ; And stretching street on street by thousands led , From twining woody haunts , and the tough yew To bows strong-straining , her aspiring sons . 'Twas nought but labour , the whole dusky groupe Of clustering houses , and of mingling men , Restless design , and execution strong . In every street the sounding hammer ply'd His massy task ; while the corrosive file , In flying touches , form'd the fine machine . Then Commerce brought into the public walk The busy Merchant ; the big ware-house built ; Rais'd the strong crane ; choak'd up the loaded street With foreign plenty ; and on thee , thou Thames , Large , gentle , deep , majestic , king of floods ! Than whom no river heaves a fuller tide , Seiz'd for his grand resort . On either hand , Like a long wintry forest , groves of masts Shot up their spires ; the bellying sheet between Possess'd the breezy void ; the sooty hulk Steer'd sluggish on ; the splendid barge along Row'd , regular , to harmony ; around , The boat , light-skimming , stretch'd its oary wings ; While deep the various voice of fervent toil From bank to bank increas'd ; whence ribb'd with oak , To bear the British thunder , black , and bold , The roaring vessel rush'd into the main . Then too the pillar'd dome , magnific , heav'd His ample roof ; and Luxury within Pour'd out her glittering stores . The canvas smooth , With glowing life protuberant , to the view Embodied rose . The statue seem'd to breathe , And soften into flesh , beneath the touch Of forming art , imagination-flush'd . All is the gift of Industry ; whate'er Exalts , embellishes , and renders life Delightful . Pensive Winter chear'd by him Sits at the social fire , and happy hears Th' excluded tempest idly rave along . His harden'd fingers deck the gaudy Spring . Without him Summer were an arid waste ; Nor to th' autumnal months could thus transmit These full , mature , immeasurable stores , That , waving round , recal my wandering song . Soon as the morning trembles o'er the sky , And , unperceiv'd , unfolds the spreading day ; Before the ripen'd field the reapers stand , In fair array ; each by the lass he loves , To bear the rougher part , and mitigate By nameless gentle offices her toil . At once they stoop , and swell the lusty sheaves ; While , bandied round and round , the rural talk , The rural scandal , and the rural jest Fly hearty , to deceive the tedious time , And chearly steal the sultry hours away . Behind the master walks , builds up the shocks ; And , conscious , glancing oft this way and that His sated eye , feels his heart heave with joy . The gleaners spread around , and here and there , Spike after spike , their sparing harvest pick . Be not too narrow , husband-men ! but fling From the full sheaf , with charitable stealth , The liberal handful . Think , oh grateful think ! How good the God of harvest is to you ; Who pours abundance o'er your flowing fields ; While these unhappy partners of your kind Wide-hover round you , like the fowls of heaven , And ask their humble dole . The various turns Of fortune ponder ; that your sons may want What now , with hard reluctance , faint , ye give . The lovely young Lavinia once had friends ; And fortune smil'd , deceitful , on her birth . For in her helpless years depriv'd of all , Of every stay , save innocence and Heaven , She with her widow'd mother , feeble , old , And poor , liv'd in a cottage , lost far up Amid the windings of a woody vale ; Safe from the cruel , blasting arts of man ; Almost on Nature's common bounty fed , Like the gay birds that sung them to repose , Content , and careless of to-morrow's fare . Her form was fresher than the morning-rose , When the dew wets its leaves ; unstain'd , and pure , As is the lilly , or the mountain snow . The modest virtues mingled in her eyes , Still on the ground deject , and darting all Their humid beams into the blooming flowers : Or when the stories that her mother told , Of what her faithless fortune flatter'd once , Thrill'd in her thought , they , like the dewy star Of evening , shone in tears . A native grace Sat fair-proportion'd on her polish'd limbs , Veil'd in a simple robe ; for loveliness Needs not the foreign aid of ornament , But is when unadorn'd adorn'd the most . Thoughtless of beauty , she was beauty's self , Recluse among the woods ; if city-dames Will deign their faith . And thus she went compell'd By strong necessity , with as serene , And pleas'd a look as patience can put on , To glean Palaemon's fields . The pride of swains Palaemon was , the generous , and the rich , Who led the rural life in all its joy , And elegance , such as Arcadian song Transmits from antient , incorrupted times ; When tyrant custom had not shackled man , And free to follow nature was the mode . He then , his fancy with autumnal scenes Amusing , chanc'd beside his reaper-train To walk , when poor Lavinia drew his eye ; Unconscious of her power , and turning quick With unaffected blushes from his gaze . He saw her charming , but he saw not half The charms her down-cast modesty conceal'd . That very moment love and chast desire Sprung in his bosom , to himself unknown ; For still the world prevail'd , and its dread laugh Which scarce the firm philosopher can scorn , Should his heart own a gleaner in the field : And thus in secret to his soul he sigh'd . What pity ! that so delicate a form , By beauty kindled , and harmonious shap'd , Where sense sincere , and goodness seem'd to dwell , Should be devoted to the rude embrace Of some indecent clown ? She looks , methinks , Of old Acasto's line ; and to my mind Recalls that patron of my happy life , From whom my liberal fortune took its rise ; Now to the dust gone down ; his houses , lands , And once fair-spreading family dissolv'd . I've heard that , in some waste obscure retreat , Urg'd by remembrance sad , and decent pride , Far from those scenes which knew their better days , His aged widow and his daughter live ; Whom yet my fruitless search could never find . Romantic wish , would this the daughter were ! When , strict enquiring , from herself he found She was the same , the daughter of his friend , The bountiful Acasto ; who can speak The mingling passion that surpriz'd his heart , And thro' his nerves in shivering transport ran ? Then blaz'd his smother'd flame , avowed , and bold ; And as he run her , ardent , o'er and o'er , Love , gratitude , and pity wept at once . Confus'd , and frighten'd at his sudden tears , Her rising beauties flush'd a higher bloom , As thus Palaemon , passionate , and just , Pour'd out the pious rapture of his soul . And art thou then Acasto's dear remains ? She , whom my restless gratitude has sought So long in vain ? Oh yes ! the very same , The soften'd image of my noble friend , Alive , his every feature , every look , More elegantly touch'd . Fairer than spring ! Thou sole surviving blossom from the root , That nourish'd up my fortune , say , ah where , In what unsmiling desart , hast thou drawn The kindest aspect of delighted heaven ? Into such beauty spread ? and blown so white ? Tho' poverty's cold wind , and crashing rain , Beat keen , and heavy , on thy tender years . O let me now , into a richer soil , Transplant thee safe ! where vernal suns , and showers , Diffuse their warmest , largest influence ; And of my garden be the pride , and joy ! It ill befits thee , oh it ill befits Acasto's daughter , his , whose open stores , Tho' vast , were little to his ampler heart , The father of a country , thus to pick The very refuse of those harvest-fields , His bounty taught to gain , and right enjoy . Then throw that shameful pittance from thy hand , But ill apply'd to such a rugged task ; With harvest shining all these fields are thine ; And , if my wishes may presume so far , Their master too , who then indeed were blest , To make the daughter of Acasto so . Here ceas'd the youth : yet still his speaking eye Express'd the sacred triumph of his soul , With conscious virtue , gratitude , and love , Above the vulgar joy divinely rais'd . Nor waited he reply . Won by the charm Of goodness irresistible , and all In sweet disorder lost , she blush'd consent . The news immediate to her mother brought , While , pierc'd with anxious thought , she pin'd away The lonely moments for Lavinia's fate ; Amaz'd , and scarce believing what she heard , Joy seiz'd her wither'd veins , and one bright gleam Of setting life shone on her evening-hours : Not less enraptur'd than the happy pair ; Who flourish'd long in mutual bliss , and rear'd A numerous offspring , lovely like themselves , And good , the grace of all the country round . Defeating oft the labours of the year , The sultry south collects a potent blast . At first , the groves are scarcely seen to stir Their trembling tops ; and a still murmur runs Along the soft-inclining fields of corn . But as th' aereal tempest fuller swells ; And in one mighty stream , invisible , Immense , the whole excited atmosphere , Impetuous rushes o'er the sounding world ; Strain'd to the root , the stooping forest pours A rustling shower of yet untimely leaves . High-beat , the circling mountains eddy in , From the bare wild , the dissipated storm , And send it in a torrent down the vale . Expos'd , and naked , to its utmost rage , Thro' all the sea of harvest rolling round , The billowy plain boils wide ; nor can evade , Tho' plyant to the blast , its seizing force ; Or whirl'd in air , or into vacant chaff Shook waste . And sometimes too a burst of rain , Swept from the black horizon , broad , descends In one continuous flood . Still over head The glomerating tempest grows , and still The deluge deepens ; till the fields around Ly sunk , and flatted , in the sordid wave . Sudden , the ditches swell ; the meadows swim . Red , from the hills , innumerable streams Tumultuous roar ; and high above its banks The river lift ; before whose weighty rush , Herds , flocks , and harvests , cottages , and swains , Roll mingled down ; all that the winds had spar'd , In one wild moment ruin'd , the big hopes , And well-earn'd treasures of the painful year . Fled to some eminence , the husbandman , Helpless beholds the miserable wreck Driving along , his drowning ox at once Descending , with his labours scatter'd round , He sees ; and instant o'er his shivering thought Comes winter unprovided , and a train Of clamant children dear . Ye masters , then Be mindful of the rough laborious hand , That sinks you soft in elegance , and ease ; Be mindful of those limbs , in russet clad , Whose toil to yours is warmth , and graceful pride ; And oh be mindful of that sparing board , Which covers yours with luxury profuse , Makes your glass sparkle , and your sense rejoice ! Nor cruelly demand what the deep rains , And all-involving winds have swept away . Here the rude clamour of the sportsman's joy , The gun thick-thundering , and the winded horn , Would tempt the muse to ling the rural game . How , in his mid-career , the spaniel struck , Stiff , by the tainted gale , with open nose , Out-stretch'd , and finely sensible , draws full , Fearful , and cautious , on the latent prey ; As in the sun the circling covey bask Their varied plumes , watchful , and every way Thro' the rough stubble turn'd the secret eye . Caught in the meshy snare , in vain they beat Their useless wings , intangled more and more : Nor on the surges of the boundless air , Tho' borne triumphant , are they safe ; the gun , Glanc'd just , and sudden , from the fowler's eye , O'ertakes their sounding pinions ; and again , Immediate , brings them from the towering wing , Dead to the ground ; or drives them else disperst , Wounded , and wheeling various , down the wind . These are not subjects for the peaceful muse , Nor will she stain her spotless theme with such ; Then most delighted , when she smiling sees The whole mix'd animal creation round Alive , and happy . 'Tis not joy to her , This falsely chearful , barbarous game of death ; This rage of pleasure , which the restless youth Awakes , impatient , with the gleaming morn ; When beasts of prey retire , that all night long , Urg'd by necessity , had roam'd the dark ; As if their conscious ravage shun'd the light , Asham'd . Not so the steady tyrant man , Who with the thoughtless insolence of power Inflam'd , beyond the most infuriate rage Of the worst monster that e'er howl'd the waste , For sport alone takes up the cruel tract , Amid the beamings of the gentle days . Upbraid us not , ye wolves ! ye tygers fell ! For hunger kindles you , and lawless want ; But lavish fed , in Nature's bounty roll'd , To laugh at anguish , and rejoice in blood , Is what your horrid bosoms never knew . Poor is the triumph o'er the timid Hare ! Shook from the corn , and now to some lone seat Retir'd : the rushy fen ; the ragged furz , Stretch'd o'er the stony heath ; the stubble chapt ; The thistly lawn ; the thick , intangled broom ; Of the same friendly hue , the wither'd fern ; The fallow ground laid open to the sun , Concoctive ; and the nodding sandy bank , Hung o'er the mazes of the mountain-brook . Vain is her best precaution ; tho' she sits By Nature rais'd to take the horizon in ; And head couch'd close betwixt her hairy feet , In act to spring away . The scented dew Betrays her early labyrinth ; and deep , In scatter'd , sullen openings , far behind , With every breeze she hears the coming storm . But nearer , and more frequent , as it loads The sighing gale , she springs amaz'd , and all The savage soul of game is up at once : The pack full-opening , varions ; the shrill horn , Resounded from the hills ; the neighing steed , Wild for the chace ; and the loud hunter's shout ; O'er a weak , harmless , flying creature , all Mix'd in mad tumult , and discordant joy . The Stag too , singled from the herd , where long He rang'd the branching monarch of the shades , Before the tempest drives . At first in speed , He , sprightly , puts his faith ; and , fear-arous'd , Gives all his swift , aereal soul to flight . Against the breeze he darts , that way the more To leave the lessening , murderous cry behind . Deception short ! tho' fleeter than the winds Blown o'er the keen-air'd mountain by the north , He bursts the thickets , glances thro' the glades , And plunges deep into the wildest wood . If slow , yet sure , adhesive to the tract Hot-steaming , up behind him comes again Th' inhuman rout , and from the shady depth Expel him , circling thro' his every shift . He sweeps the forest oft ; and sobbing sees The glades , mild-opening to the golden day ; Where , in kind contest , with his butting friends He went to struggle , or his loves enjoy . Oft in the full-descending flood he tries To lose the scent , and lave his burning sides ; Oft seeks the herd ; the watchful herd alarm'd , With quick consent , avoid th' infectious maze . What shall he do ? His once so vivid nerves , So full of buoyant soul , inspire no more The fainting course ; but wrenching , breathless toil , Sick , seizes on his heart : he stands at bay ; And puts his last weak refuge in despair . The big round tears run down his dappled face ; He groans in anguish ; while the growling pack , Blood-happy , hang at his fair , jutting chest , And mark his beauteous checquer'd sides with gore . Of this enough . But if the silvan youth Whose fervent blood boils into violence , Must have the chace ; behold , despising flight , The rous'd-up lyon , resolute , and slow , Advancing full on the protended spear , And coward-band , that circling wheel aloof . Slunk from the cavern , and the troubled wood , See the grim wolf ; on him his shaggy foe Viudictive fix , for murder is his trade : And , growling horrid , as the brindled boar Grins near destruction , to the monster's heart Let the dart lighten from the nervous arm . These Britain Knows not ; give , ye Britons , then Your sportive fury , pityless , to pour Loose on the sly destroyer of the flock . Him , from his craggy winding haunts unearth'd , Let all the thunder of the chace pursue . Throw the broad ditch behind you ; o'er the hedge High-bound , resistless ; nor the deep morass Refuse , but thro' the shaking wilderness Pick your , nice way ; into the perilous flood Bear fearless , of the raging instinct full ; And as you ride the torrent , to the banks Your triumph sound sonorous , running round , From rock to rock , in circling echo tost ; Then snatch the mountains by their woody tops ; Rush down the dangerous steep ; and o'er the lawn , In fancy swallowing up the space between , Pour all your speed into the rapid game . For happy he ! who tops the wheeling chace ; Has every maze evolv'd , and every guile Disclos'd ; who knows the merits of the pack ; Who saw the villain seiz'd , and dying hard , Without complaint , tho' by an hundred mouths At once tore , mercyless . Thrice happy he ! At hour of dusk , while the retreating horn Calls them to ghostly halls of grey renown , With woodland honours grac'd ; the fox's fur , Depending decent from the roof ; and spread Round the drear walls , with antick figures fierce , The stag's large front : he then is loudest heard , When the night staggers with severer toils ; And their repeated wonders shake the dome . But first the fuel'd chimney blazes wide ; The tankards foam ; and the strong table groans Beneath the smoaking sirloin , stretch'd immense From side to side ; on which , with fell intent , They deep incision make , and talk the while Of England's glory , ne'er to be defac'd , While hence they borrow vigour : or amain Into the pasty plung'd , at intervals , If stomach keen can intervals allow , Relating how it ran , and how it fell . Then sated Hunger bids his brother Thirst Produce the mighty bowl ; the mighty bowl , Swell'd high with fiery juice , steams liberal round A potent gale , reviving as the breath Of Maia , to the love-sick shepherdess , On violets diffus'd , while soft she hears Her panting shepherd stealing to her arms , Nor wanting is the brown october , drawn , Mature , and perfect , from his dark retreat Of thirty years ; and now his honest front Flames in the light refulgent , nor asham'd To vie it with the vineyard's best produce . Perhaps a while , amusive , thoughtful Whisk Walks gentle round , beneath a cloud of smoak , Wreath'd , fragrant , from the pipe ; or the quick dice , In thunder leaping from the box , awake The sounding gammon : while romp-loving miss Is haul'd about , in gallantry robust . At last these puling idlenesses laid Aside , frequent , and full , the dry divan Close in firm circle ; and set , ardent , in For serious drinking . Nor evasion sly , Nor sober shift is to the puking wretch Indulg'd askew ; but earnest , brimming bowls Lave every soul , the table floating round , And pavement , faithless to the fuddled foot . Thus as they swim in mutual swill , the talk , Vociferate at once by twenty tongues , Reels fast from theme to theme ; from horses , hounds , To church , or mistress , politicks , or ghost , In endless mazes , intricate , perplext . Mean-time , with sudden interruption , loud , Th' impatient catch bursts from the joyous heart . That moment touch'd is every kindred soul ; And , opening in a full-mouth'd Cry of joy , The laugh , the slap , the jocund curse goes round ; While , from their slumbers shook , the kennel'd hounds Mix in the music of the day again . As when the tempest , that has vex'd the deep The dark night long , falls murmuring towards morn ; So their mirth gradual sinks . Their feeble tongues , Unable to take up the cumbrous word , Ly quite disslov'd . Before their maudlin eyes , Seen dim , and blue , the double tapers dance , Like the sun wading thro' the misty sky . Then , sliding sweet , they drop . O'erturn'd above Lies the wet , broken scene ; and stretch'd below , Each way , the drunken slaughter ; where astride The lubber Power himself triumphant sits , Slumbrous , inclining still from side to side , And steeps them , silent all , in sleep till morn . But if the rougher sex by this red sport Are hurry'd wild , let not such horrid joy E'er stain the bosom of the British Fair . Far be the spirit of the chace from them ! Uncomely courage , unbeseeming skill , To spring the fence , to rein the prancing steed , The cap , the whip , the masculine attire , In which they roughen to the sense , and all The winning softness of their sex is lost . Made up of blushes , tenderness , and fears , In them 'tis graceful to dissolve at woe ; With every motion , every word , to wave Quick o'er the kindling cheek the ready blush ; And from the smallest violence to shrink , Unequal , then the loveliest in their fears ; And by this silent adulation , soft , To their protection more engaging man . O may their eyes no miserable sight , Save weeping lovers , see ! a nobler game , Thro' love's enchanting wiles pursu'd , yet fled , In chace ambiguous . May their tender limbs Float in the loose simplicity of dress ! And fashion'd all to harmony , alone , Know they to seize the captivated soul , In rapture warbled from the radiant lip ; To teach the lute to languish ; with smooth step , Disclosing motion in its every charm , To swim along , and swell the mazy dance ; To train the foliage o'er the snowy lawn ; To play the pencil , turn th' instructive page ; To give new flavour to the fruitful year , And heighten Nature's dainties ; in their race To rear their graces into second life ; To give society its highest taste ; Well-order'd home man's best delight to make ; And by submissive wisdom , modest skill , With every kinder , care-elusive art , To raise the glory , animate the joys , And sweeten all the toils of human life ; This be the female dignity , and praise . Ye swains , now hasten to the hazel-bank ; Where , down yon dale , the wildly-winding brook Falls hoarse from steep to steep . In close array Fit for the thickets , and the tangling shrub , Ye virgins , come . For you their latest song The woodlands raise ; the cluster'd nut for you The lover finds amid the secret shade ; Or , where they burnish on the topmost bough , With active vigour crushes down the tree ; Or shakes them ripe from the resigning husk , A glossy shower , and of an ardent brown , As are the ringlets of Melinda's hair : Melinda form'd with every grace compleat , Yet these neglecting , above beauty wise , And far transcending such a vulgar praise . Hence from the busy , joy-resounding fields , In cheerful error , let us tread the maze Of Autumn , unconfin'd ; and vital taste The breath of orchard big with bending fruit . Obedient to the breeze , and beating ray , From the deep-loaded bough a mellow shower , Incessant melts away . The juicy pear Lies , in a soft profusion , scatter'd round . A various sweetness swells the gentle race ; In species different , but in kind the same , By Nature's all-refining hand prepar'd , Of temper'd sun , and water , earth , and air , In ever-changing composition mixt . So fares it with those wide-projected heaps Of apples , which the lusty-handed year , Innumerous , o'er the blushing orchard shakes . A various spirit , fresh , delicious , keen , Dwells in their gelid pores ; and , active , points The piercing cyder for the thirsty tongue : Thy native theme , and boon inspirer too , Phillips , facetious bard , the second thou Who nobly durst , in rhyme-unfetter'd verse , With British freedom sing the British song ; How , from Silurian vats , high-sparkling wines Foam in transparent floods ; some strong , to cheer The wintry revels of the labouring hind ; And tasteful some , to cool the summer-hours . In this glad season , while his last , best beams The sun sheds equal o'er the meeken'd day ; Oh lose me in the green , majestic walks Of , Dodington ! thy seat , serene , and plain ; Where simple Nature reigns ; and every view , Diffusive , spreads the pure Dorsetian downs , In boundless prospect , yonder shagg'd with wood ; Here rich with harvest ; and there white with flocks . Mean time the grandeur of thy lofty dome , Far-splendid , seizes on the ravish'd eye . New beauties rise with each revolving day ; New columns swell ; and still the fresh spring finds New plants to quicken , and new groves to green . Full of thy genius all ! the muses seat ; Where in the secret bower , and winding walk They twine the bay for thee . Here oft alone , Fir'd by the thirst of thy applause , I court Th' inspiring breeze ; and meditate the book Of Nature , ever-open ; aiming thence , Heart-taught like thine , to learn the moral song . And , as I steal along , the sunny wall , Where Autumn basks , with fruit empurpled deep , My theme still urges in my vagrant thought ; Presents the downy peach ; the purple plumb , With a fine blueish mist of animals Clouded ; the ruddy nectarine ; and dark , Beneath his ample leaf , the luscious fig . The vine too here her curling tendrils shoots ; Hangs out her clusters , swelling to the south ; And scarcely wishes for a warmer sky . Turn we a moment Fancy's rapid flight To vigorous soils , and climes of fair extent ; Where , by the potent sun elated high , The vineyard heaves refulgent on the day ; Spreads o'er the vale ; or up the mountain climbs , Profuse ; and drinks amid the sunny rocks , From cliff to cliff encreas'd , the heighten'd blaze . Low bend the gravid boughs . The clusters clear , Half thro' the foliage seen , or ardent flame , Or shine transparent ; while perfection breathes White o'er the turgent film the living dew . As thus they brighten with exalted juice , Touch'd into flavour by the mingling ray ; The rural youth and virgins o'er the field , Each fond for each to cull th' autumnal prime , Exulting rove , and speak the vintage nigh . Then comes the crushing swain ; the country floats , And foams unbounded with the mashy flood ; That by degrees fermented , and refin'd , Round the rais'd nations pours the cup of joy : The Claret smooth , deep as the lip we press , In sparkling fancy , while we drain the bowl ; The mellow-tasted Burgundy ; and quick , As is the wit it gives , the bright Champaign . Now by the cool , declining year condens'd , Descend the copious exhalations , check'd As up the middle sky unseen they stole , And roll the doubling sogs around the hill . No more the mountain , horrid , vast , sublime , Who pours a sweep of rivers from his sides ; And deep betwixt contending kingdoms lays The rocky , long division ; while aloft , His piny top is , lessening , lost in air : No more his thousand prospects fill the view With great variety ; but in a night Of gathering vapour , from the baffled sense , Sink dark , and total . Nor alone immerst ; The huge dusk , gradual , swallows up the plain . Vanish the woods . The dim-seen river seems Sullen , and slow , to rowl the misty wave . Even in the height of noon opprest , the sun Sheds weak , and blunt , his wide-refracted ray ; Whence glaring oft with many a broaden'd orb He frights the nations . Indistinct on earth , Seen thro' the turbid air , beyond the life , Objects appear ; and , wilder'd , o'er the waste , The shepherd stalks gigantick . Till at last Wreath'd close around , in deeper circles still Successive floating , sits the general fog Unbounded o'er the world ; and mingling thick , A formless , grey confusion covers all . As when of old ( so sung the hebrew bard ) Light , uncollected , thro' the Chaos urg'd Its infant way ; nor Order yet had drawn His endless train forth from the dubious gloom . These roving mists , that constant now begin To smoak along the hilly country , these , With mighty rains , the skill'd in nature say , The mountain-cisterns fill , those grand reserves Of water , scoop'd among the hollow rocks ; Whence gush the streams , the ceaseless fountains play , And their unfailing stores the rivers draw . But is this equal to the vast effect ? Is thus the Volga fill'd ? the rapid Rhine ? The broad Euphrates ? all th' unnumber'd floods , That large refresh the fair-divided earth ; And , in the rage of summer , never cease To send a thundering torrent to the main ? What tho' the sun draws from the steaming deep More than the rivers pour ? How much again , O'er the vext surge , in bitter-driving showers , Frequent returns , let the wet sailor say : And on the thirsty down , far from the burst Of springs , how much , to their reviving fields , And feeding flocks , let lonely shepherds sing . But sure 'tis no weak , variable cause , That keeps at once ten thousand thousand floods , Wide-wandering o'er the world , so fresh , and clear , For ever flowing , and for ever full . And thus some sages , deep-exploring , teach : That , where the hoarse , innumerable wave , Eternal , lashes the refounding shore ; Suck'd thro' the sandy Stratum , every way , The waters with the sandy Stratum rise ; Amid whole angles infinitely strain'd , They leave each saline particle behind , And clear , and sweeten , as they soak along . Nor stops the restless fluid , mounting still , Tho' here and there in lowly plains it springs , But to the mountain courted by the sand , That leads it darkling on in faithful maze , Far from the parent-main , it boils again Fresh into day ; and all the glittering hill Is bright with spouting rills . The vital stream Hence , in its subterranean passage , gains , From the wash'd mineral , that restoring power , And salutary virtue , which anew Strings every nerve , calls up the kindling soul Into the healthful cheek , and joyous eye : And whence , the royal maid , Amelia blooms With new-flush'd graces ; yet reserv'd to bless , Beyond a crown , some happy prince ; and shine , In all her mother's matchless virtues drest , The Carolina of another land . While Autumn scatters his departing gleams , Warn'd of approaching winter , gather'd , play The swallow-people ; and tost wide around , O'er the calm sky , in convolution swift , The feather'd eddy floats . Rejoycing once , E're to their wintry slumbers they retire ; In clusters clung , beneath the mouldering bank , And where the cavern sweats , as sages dream . Or rather into warmer climes convey'd , With other kindred birds of season , there They twitter cheerful , till the vernal months Invite them welcome back : for , thronging , now Innumerous wings are in commotion all . Where the Rhine loses his majestic force In Belgian plains , won from the raging deep By diligence amazing , and the strong , Unconquerable hand of Liberty , The stork-assembly meets ; for many a day , Consulting deep , and various , e're they take Their plumy voyage thro' the liquid sky . And now their rout design'd , their leaders chose , Their tribes adjusted , clean'd their vigorous wings ; And many a circle , many a short essay Wheel'd round and round , in congregation full , The figur'd flight ascends ; and , riding high Th' aerial billows , mixes with the clouds . Or where the Northern ocean , in vast whirls , Boils round the naked , melancholy isles Of farthest Thule , and th' Atlantic surge Pours in among the stormy Hebrides ; Who can recount what transmigrations there Are annual made ? What nations come and go ? And how the living clouds on clouds arise ? Infinite wings ! till all the plume-dark air , And white resounding store are one wild cry Here the plain , harmless native his small flock , And herd diminutive of many hues , Tends on the little island's verdant swell , The shepherd's sea-girt reign ; or , to the rocks Dire-clinging , gathers his ovarious food ; Or sweeps the fishy shore ; or treasures up The plumage , riling full , to form the bed Of luxury . And here a while the muse , High-hovering o'er the broad cerulean scene , Sees Caledonia , in romantic view : Her airy mountains , from the gelid main , Invested with a keen , diffusive sky , Breathing the soul acute ; her forests huge , Incult , robust , and tall , by Nature's hand Planted of old ; her azure lakes between , Pour'd out extensive , and of watry wealth Full ; winding deep , and green , her fertile vales ; With many a cool , translucent , brimming flood Wash'd lovely , from the Tweed , pure parent-stream , To where the north-inflated tempest foams O'er Orca , or Betubium's highest peak . Nurse of a people , in misfortune's school Train'd up to hardy deeds ; soon visited By Learnings , when before the Gothic rage She took her western flight . A generous race Of unsubmitting spirit , wise , and brave , Who still thro' bleeding ages struggled hard , To hold a hapless , undiminish'd state ; Too much in vain ! Hence of ignoble bounds Impatient , and by tempting glory borne O'er every land , for every land their life Has flow'd profuse , their piercing genius plan'd , And swell'd the pomp of peace their faithful toil . As from their own clear north , in radiant streams , Bright over Europe bursts the Boreal Morn . Oh is there not some patriot , in whose power That best , that godlike luxury is plac'd , Of blessing thousands , thousands yet unborn , Thro' late posterity ? some , large of soul ! To cheer dejected industry ? to give A double harvest to the pining swain ? And teach the labouring hand the sweets of toil ? How , by the finest art , the native robe To weave ; how , white as hyperborean snow , To form the lucid lawn ; with venturous oar , How to dash wide the billow ; nor look on , Shamefully passive , while Batavian fleets Defraud us of the glittering , finny swarms , That heave our friths , and croud upon our shores ; How all-enlivening trade to rouse , and wing The prosperous sail , from every growing port , Unchalleng'd , round the sea-incircled globe ; And thus united Britain Britain make Intire , th' imperial Mistress of the deep . Yes , there are such . And full on thee , Argyle , Her hope , her stay , her darling , and her boast , From her first patriots , and her heroes sprung , Thy fond , imploring country turns her eye : In thee , with all a mother's triumph , sees Her every virtue , every grace combin'd , Her genius , wisdom , her politest turn , Her pride of honour , and her courage try'd , Calm , and intrepid , in the very throat Of sulphurous war , on Tenier's dreadful field , While thick around the deadly tempest flew . And when the trumpet , kindling war no more , Pours not the flaming squadrons o'er the field ; But , fruitful of fair deeds , and mutual faith , Kind peace unites the jarring world again ; Let the deep olive thro' thy laurels twine . For , powerful as thy sword , from thy rich tongue Persuasion flows , and wins the high debate : While mix'd in thee combine the charm of youth , The force of manhood , and the depth of age . Thee , Forbes , too , whom every worth attends , As Truth sincere , as weeping Friendship kind , Thee , truly generous , and in silence great , Thy country feels thro' her reviving arts , Plan'd by thy wisdom , by thy soul inform'd ; And seldom has she felt the friend like thee . But see the fading , many-colour'd woods , Shade deepening over shade , the country round Imbrown ; a crowded umbrage , dusk , and dun , Of every hue , from wan , declining green To sooty dark . These now the lonesome muse , Low-whispering , lead into their leaf-strown walks , And give the Season in its latest view . Mean-time , light-shadowing all , a sober calm Fleeces unbounded ether ; whose least wave Stands tremulous , uncertain where to turn The gentle current : while illumin'd wide , The dewy-skirted clouds imbibe the sun , And thro' their uvid pores his temper'd force Shed o'er the peaceful world . Then is the time , For those whom Wisdom , and whom Nature charm , To steal themselves from the degenerate crowd , And soar above this little scene of things ; To tread low-thoughted vice beneath their feet ; To sooth the throbbing passions into peace ; And woo lone Quiet in her silent walks . Thus solitary , and in pensive guise , Oft let me wander o'er the russet mead , And thro' the sadden'd grove , where scarce is heard One dying strain , to cheer the woodman's toil . Haply some widow'd songster pours his plaint Far , in saint warblings , thro' the tawny copse . While congregated thrushes , linnets , larks , And each wild throat , whose artless strains so late Swell'd all the music of the swarming shades , Robb'd of their tuneful souls , now shivering sit On the dead tree , a dull , despondent flock ! With not a brightness waving o'er their plumes , And nought save chattering discord in their note , O let not , aim'd from some inhuman eye , The gun the music of the coming year Destroy ; and harmless , unsuspecting harm , Lay the weak tribes , a miserable prey ! In mingled murder , fluttering on the ground . The pale , descending year , yet pleasing still , A gentler mood inspires ; for now the leaf Incessant rustles from the mournful grove , Oft starting such as , studious , walk below , And slowly circles thro' the waving air . But should a quicker breeze and the boughs Sob , o'er the sky the leafy rain streams ; Till choak'd , and matted with the dreary shower , The forest-walks , at every rising gale , Roll wide the wither'd waste , and whistle bleak . Fled is the blasted verdure of the fields ; And , shrunk into their beds , the flowery race Their sunny robes resign . Even what remain'd Of bolder fruits falls from the naked tree ; And woods , fields , gardens , orchards , all around The desolated prospect thrills the soul . He comes ! he comes ! in every breeze the Power Of philosophic Melancholy comes ! His near approach the sudden-starting tear , The glowing cheek , the mild dejected air , The soften'd feature , and the beating heart , Pierc'd deep with many a secret pang , declare . O'er all his soul his sacred influence breathes ; In all the bosom triumphs , all the nerves ; Inflames imagination ; thro' the sense Infuses every tenderness ; and far Beyond dim earth exalts the swelling thought . Ten thousand thousand fleet ideas , such As never mingled with the Vulgar's dream , Croud fast into the mind's creative eye . As fast the correspondent passions rise , As varied , and as high : devotion rais'd To rapture , and divine astonishment . The love of Nature unconfin'd , and chief Of human kind ; the large , ambitious wish , To make them blest ; the sigh for suffering worth , Lost in obscurity ; th' indignant scorn Of mighty pride ; the fearless , great resolve ; The wonder that the dying patriot draws , Inspiring glory thro' remotest time ; Th' arousing pant for virtue , and for fame ; The sympathies of love , and friendship dear ; With all the social offspring of the heart . Oh bear me then to vast , embowering shades ! To twilight groves , and visionary vales ! To weeping grottoes , and prophetic glooms ! Where angel-forms athwart the solemn dusk , Tremendous sweep , or seem to sweep along ; And voices more than human , thro' the void Deep-sounding , seize th' enthusiastic ear . And now the western sun withdraws the day ; And humid evening , gilding o'er the sky , In her chill progress , to the ground condens'd Th' ascending vapour throws . Where waters ooze , Where marshes stagnate , and where rivers wind , Cluster the rolling fogs , and swim along The dusky-mantled lawn . Mean-while the moon Full-orb'd , and breaking thro' the scatter'd clouds , Shews her broad visage in the crimson'd east . Turn'd to the sun direct , her spotted disk , ( Where mountains rise , umbrageous dales descend , And oceans roll , as optic tube descries ) A lesser earth gives all his blaze again , Void of its flame , and sheds a softer day . Now thro' the passing cloud she seems to stoop , Now up the pure cerulean rides sublime . Wide the pale deluge floats ; and streaming mild O'er the sky'd mountain to the shadowy vale , While rocks , and floods reflect the quivering gleam , The whole air whitens with a boundless tide Of silver radiance , trembling round the world . But when , half-blotted from the sky , her light , Fainting , permits the starry fires to burn , With keener lustre thro' the depth of heaven ; Or quite extinct , her deaden'd orb appears , And scarce appears , of sickly , beamless white : Oft in this season , silent from the north A blaze of meteors shoots , ensweeping first The lower skies , then all at once converge High to the crown of heaven , and all at once Relapsing quick , as quickly reascend , And mix , and thwart , extinguish , and renew , All ether coursing in a maze of light . From look to look , contagious thro' the crowd , The Pannic runs , and into wondrous shapes Th' appearance throws : armies in meet array , Throng with aerial spears , and steeds of fire ; Till the long lines of full-extended war In bleeding fight commixt , the sanguine flood Rowls a broad slaughter o'er the plains of heaven . As thus they scan the visionary scene , On all sides swells the superstitious din , Incontinent ; and busy frenzy talks Of blood and battle ; cities over-turn'd , And , late at night , in swallowing earthquake sunk , Or painted hideous with ascending flame ; Of sallow famine , inundation , storm ; Of pestilence , and every great distress ; Empires subvers'd , when ruling fate has struck Th' unalterable hour : even Nature's self Is deem'd to totter on the brink of time . Not so the man of philosophic eye , And inspect sage ; the waving brightness he Curious surveys , inquisitive to know The causes , and materials , yet unfix'd , Of this appearance beautiful , and new . Now black , and deep , the night begins to fall , A solid shade , immense . Sunk in the gloom Magnificent , and vast , are heaven and earth . Order confounded lies ; all beauty void ; Distinction lost ; and gay variety One universal blot : such the fair power Of Light , to kindle , and create the whole . Drear is the state of the benighted wretch , Who then , bewilder'd , wanders thro' the dark , Full of pale fancies , and chimeras huge ; Nor visited by one directive ray , From cottage streaming , or from airy hall . Perhaps impatient as he stumbles on , Struck from the root of slimy ruses , blue , The wild-fire scatters round , or gathertd trails A length of flame deceitful o'er the moss ; Whither decoy'd by the fantastic blaze , Now sunk and now renew'd , he's quite absorpt , Rider and horse into the miry gulph : While still , from day to day , his pining wife , And plaintive children his return await , In wild conjecture lost . At other times , Sent by the better Genius of the night , Innoxious , gleaming on the horse's mane , The meteor sits ; and shews the narrow path , That winding leads thro' pits of death , or else Instructs him how to take the dangerous ford . The lengthen'd night elaps'd , the morning shines Serene , in all her dewy beauty bright , Unfolding fair the last Autumnal day . And now the mounting sun dispels the fog ; The rigid hoar-frost melts before his beam , And hung on every spray , on every blade Of grass , the myriad dew-drops twinkle round . Ah see where robb'd , and murder'd , in that pit , Lies the still heaving hive ; at evening snatch'd , Beneath the cloud of guilt-concealing night , And whelm'd o'er sulphur : while , undreaming ill , The happy people , in their waxen cells , Sat tending publick cares , and planning schemes Of temperance , for winter poor ; rejoic'd To mark , full-flowing round , their copious stores , Sudden the dark , oppressive steam ascends : And , us'd to milder scents , the tender race , By thousands , tumble from their honey'd domes , Convolv'd , and agonizing in the dust . And was it then for this ye roam'd the spring , Intent from flower to flower ? for this ye toil'd Ceaseless the burning summer-heats away ? For this in Autumn search'd the blooming waste , Nor lost one sunny gleam ? for this sad sate ? O man ! tyrannic lord ! how long , how long , Shall prostrate nature groan beneath your rage , Awaiting renovation ? When oblig'd , Must you destroy ? Of their ambrosial food Can you not borrow ? and in just return , Afford them shelter from the wintry winds ; Or , as the sharp year pinches , with their own Again regale them on some smiling day ? Hard by , the stony bottom of their town Looks desolate , and wild ; with here and there A helpless number , who the ruin'd state Survive , lamenting weak , cast out to death . Thus a proud city , populous , and rich , Full of the works of peace , and high in joy , At theatre , or feast , or sunk in sleep , ( As late , Palermo , was thy fate ) is seiz'd By some dread earthquake , and convulsive hurld , Sheer from the black foundation , stench-involv'd , Into a gulph of blue , sulphureous flame . Hence every harsher sight ! for now the day , O'er heaven and earth diffus'd , grows warm , and high , Infinite splendor ! wide investing all . How still the breeze ! save what the filmy threads Of dew evaporate brushes from the plain . How clear the cloudless sky ! how deeply ting'd With a peculiar blue ! th' ethereal arch How swell'd immense ! amid whose azure thron'd The radiant sun how gay ! how calm below The gilded earth ! the harvest-treasures all Now gather'd in , beyond the rage of storms , Sure to the swain ; the circling sence shut up ; And instant Winter bid to do his worst . While loose to festive joy , the country round Laughs with the loud sincerity of mirth , Care shook away . The toil-invigorate youth , Not needing the melodious impulse much , Leaps wildly graceful , in the lively dance . Her every charm abroad , the village-toast , Young , buxom , warm , in native beauty rich , Darts not-unmeaning looks ; and , where her eye Points an approving smile , with double force , The cudgel rattles , and the struggle twists . Age too shines out ; and , garrulous , recounts The feats of youth . Thus they rejoyce ; nor think That , with to-morrow's fun , their annual toil Begins again the never-ceasing round . Oh knew he but his happiness , of men The happiest he ! who far from public rage , Deep in the vale , with a choice few retir'd , Drinks the pure pleasures of the rural life . What tho' the dome be wanting , whose proud gate Each morning vomits out the sneaking crowd Of flatterers false , and in their turn abus'd , Vile intercourse ! What tho' the glittering robe , Of every hue reflected light can give , Or floating loose , or stiff with mazy gold , The pride , and gaze of fools ! oppress him not . What tho' from utmost land , and sea , purvey'd , For him each rarer , tributary life Bleeds not , and his insatiate table heaps With luxury , and death . What tho' his wine Flows not from brighter gems ; nor sunk in beds , Oft of gay care , he tosses out the night ; Or , thoughtless , sleeps at best in idle state . What tho' depriv'd of these fantastic joys , That stiil amuse the wanton , still deceive ; A face of pleasure , but a heart of pain ; Their hollow moments undelighted all . Sure peace is his ; a solid life , estrang'd To disappointment , and fallacious hope ; Rich in content , in Nature's bounty rich , In herbs , and fruits ; whatever greens the Spring , When heav'n descends in show'rs ; or bends the bough , When Summer reddens , and when Autumn beams ; Or in the Wintry glebe whatever lies Conceal'd , and fattens with the richest sap ; These are not wanting ; nor the milky drove , Luxuriant , spread o'er all the lowing vale ; Nor bleating mountains ; nor the chide of streams , And hum of bees , inviting sleep sincere Into the guiltless breast , beneath the shade , Or thrown at large amid the fragrant hay : Nor aught beside of prospect , grove , or song , Dim grottoes , gleaming lakes , and fountain clear . Here too lives simple truth ; plain innocence ; Unsully'd beauty ; sound , unbroken youth , Patient of labour , with a little pleas'd ; Health ever-blooming ; unambitious toil ; Calm contemplation , and poetic ease . Let others brave the flood , in quest of gain , And beat , for joyless months , the gloomy wave . Let such as deem it glory to destroy , Rush into blood ; the sack of cities seek ; Unpierc'd , exulting in the widow's wail , The virgin's shriek , and infant's trembling cry . Let some far-distant from their native soil , Urg'd , or by want , or harden'd avarice , Find other lands beneath another sun . Let This thro' cities work his ardent way , By legal outrage , and establish'd guile , The social sense extinct ; and That ferment Mad into tumult the seditious herd , Or melt them down to slavery . Let These Insnare the wretched in the toils of law , Fomenting discord , and perplexing right , An iron race ! and Those of fairer front , But equal inhumanity , in courts , And slippery pomp delight , in dark cabals ; Wreathe the deep bow , diffuse the lying smile , And tread the weary labyrinth of state . While He , from all the stormy passions free , That restless men involve , hears , and but hears , At distance safe , the human tempest roar , Wrapt close in conscious peace . The fall of kings , The rage of nations , and the crush of states Move not the man , who , from the world escap'd , In still retreats , and flowery solitudes , To Nature's voice attends , from day to day , And month to month , thro' the revolving Year ; Admiring , sees her in her every shape : Feels all her fine emotions at his heart ; Takes what she liberal gives , nor thinks of more . He , when young Spring protrudes the bursting gems , Marks the first bud , and sucks the healthful gale Into his freshen'd soul ; her genial hours He quite enjoys ; and not a beauty blows , And not an opening blossom breathes in vain . In Summer he , beneath the living shade , Such as from frigid Tempe wont to fall , Or Haemus cool , reads what the muse , of these Perhaps , has in immortal numbers sung ; Or what she dictates writes ; and , oft an eye Shot round , rejoyces in the vigorous year . When Autumn's yellow lustre gilds the world , And tempts the sickled swain into the field , Seiz'd by the general joy , his heart distends With gentle throws ; and thro' the tepid gleams Deep-musing , then the best exerts his song . Even Winter wild to him is full of bliss . The mighty tempest , and the hoary waste , Abrupt , and deep , stretch'd o'er the bury'd earth , Awake to solemn thought . At night the skies , Disclos'd , and kindled , by refining frost , Pour every lustre on th' astonish'd eye . A friend , a book , the stealing hours secure , And mark them down for wisdom . With swift wing , O'er land , and sea , imagination roams ; Or truth , divinely breaking on his mind , Elates his being , and unfolds his powers ; Or in his breast heroic virtue burns . The touch of love , and kindred too he feels , The modest eye , whose beams on his alone Extatic shine ; the little , strong embrace Of prattling children , twin'd around his neck , And emulous to please him , calling forth The fond parental soul . Nor purpose gay , Amusement , dance , or song , he sternly scorns ; For happiness , and true philosophy Still are , and have been of the smiling kind . This is the life which those who fret in guilt , And guilty cities , never knew ; the life , Led by primaeval ages , incorrupt , When God himself , and Angels dwelt with men ! Oh Nature ! all-sufficient ! over all ! Enrich me with the knowledge of thy works ! Snatch me to heaven ; thy rolling wonders there , World beyond world , in infinite extent , Profusely scatter'd o'er the void immense , Shew me ; their motions , periods , and their laws , Give me to scan ; thro' the disclosing deep Light my blind way : the mineral Strata there ; Thrust , blooming , thence the vegetable world ; O'er that rising system , more complex , Of animals ; and higher still , the mind , The varied scene of quick-compounded thought , And where the mixing passions endless shift ; These ever open to my ravish'd eye ; A search , the flight of time can ne'er exhaust ! But if to that unequal ; if the blood , In sluggish streams about my heart , forbids That best ambition ; under closing shades , Inglorious , lay me by the lowly brook , And whisper to my dreams . From Thee begin , Dwell all on Thee , with Thee conclude my song ; And let me never , never stray from Thee ! The END .