[
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
.