Autumn

Crown'd with the sickle, and the wheaten sheaf,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 frostNitrous prepar'd; the various-blossom'd spring 5Put in white promise forth; and summer-sunsConcocted 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, 10Would from the Public Voice thy gentle earA while engage. Thy noble cares she knows,The patriot virtues that distend thy thought,Spread on thy front, and in thy bosom glow;While listening senates hang upon thy tongue, 15Devolving thro' the maze of eloquenceA roll 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, 20Assumes a bolder note, and fondly triesTo 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 fierce effulgence shook 25Of parting Summer, a serener blue,With golden light enliven'd, wide investsThe happy world. Attemper'd suns arise,Sweet-beam'd, and shedding oft thro' lucid cloudsA pleasing calm; while broad, and brown, below 30Extensive harvests hang the heavy head.Rich, silent, deep, they stand; for not a galeRolls its light billows o'er the bending plain;A calm of plenty! till the ruffled airFalls from its poise, and gives the breeze to blow. 35Rent is the fleecy mantle of the sky;The clouds fly different; and the sudden sunBy fits effulgent gilds th' illumin'd field,And black by fits the shadows sweep along.A gaily-checker'd heart-expanding view, 40Far as the circling eye can shoot around,Unbounded 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, 45And 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 seeds of art deep in the mind 50Implanted, and profusely pour'd aroundMaterials infinite; but idle all.Still unexerted, in th' unconscious breast,Slept the lethargic powers; corruption still,Voracious, swallowed what the liberal hand 55Of bounty scatter'd o'er the savage year:

And still the sad barbarian, roving, mix'dWith beasts of prey; or for his acorn-mealFought the fierce tusky boar; a shivering wretch!Aghast, and comfortless, when the bleak north, 60With winter charg'd, let the mix'd tempest fly,Hail, rain, and snow, and bitter-breathing frost:Then to shelter of the hut he fled;And the wild season, sordid, pin'd away.For home he had not; home is the resort 65Of 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 70Roll'd heavy, dark, and unenjoy'd along;A waste of time! till Industry approach'dAnd rous'd him from his miserable sloth:His faculties unfolded; pointed out,Where lavish Nature the directing hand 75Of art demanded; shew'd him how to raiseHis 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; 80Gave the tall ancient forest to his ax;Taught him to chip the wood, and hew the stone,Till by degrees the finished fabric rose;Tore from his limbs the blood-polluted fur,And wrapt them in the woolly vestment warm, 85Or bright in glossy silk, and flowing lawn;With wholesome viands fill'd his table, pour'dThe generous glass around, inspir'd to wakeThe life-refining soul of decent wit:Nor stopp'd at barren bare necessity; 90But still advancing bolder, led him on

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. 95

Then gathering men their natural powers combin'd,And form'd a Public; to the general goodSubmitting, aiming, and conducting all.For this the Patriot-Council met, the full,The free, and fairly represented Whole; 100For this they plann'd the holy guardian-laws,Distinguish'd orders, animated arts,And with joint force Oppression chaining, setImperial Justice at the helm; yet stillTo them accountable: nor slavish dream'd 105That toiling millions must resign their weal,And all the honey of their search to suchAs for themselves alone themselves have rais'd.

Hence every form of cultivated lifeIn order set, protected, and inspir'd, 110Into perfection wrought. Uniting all,Society grew numerous, high, polite,And happy. Nurse of art! the city rear'dIn beauteous pride her tower-encircled head;And, stretching street on street, by thousands drew, 115From twining woody haunts, or the tough yewTo bows strong-straining, her aspiring sons.

Then Commerce brought into the public walkThe busy merchant; the big ware-house built;Rais'd the strong crane; choak'd up the loaded street 120With foreign plenty; and thy stream, O Thames,Large, gentle, deep, majestic, king of floods!Chose for his grand resort. On either hand,Like a long wintry forest, groves of masts

Shot up their spires; the bellying sheet between 125Possess'd the breezy void; the sooty hulkSteer'd sluggish on; the splendid barge alongRow'd, regular, to harmony; around,The boat, light-skimming, stretch'd its oary wings;While deep the various voice of fervent toil 130From 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'dIts ample roof; and luxury within 135Pour'd out her glittering stores: the canvas smooth,With glowing life protuberant, to the viewEmbodied rose; the statue seem'd to breathe,And soften into flesh, beneath the touchOf forming art, imagination-flush'd. 140

All is the gift of Industry; whate'erExalts, embellishes, and renders lifeDelightful. Pensive Winter chear'd by himSits at the social fire, and happy hearsTh' excluded tempest idly rave along; 145His harden'd fingers deck the gaudy Spring;Without him Summer were an arid waste;Nor to th' Autumnal months could thus transmitThose full, mature, immeasurable stores,That, waving round, recall my wandering song. 150

Soon as the morning trembles o'er the sky,And, unperceiv'd, unfolds the spreading day,Before the ripened field the reapers stand,In fair array; each by the lass he loves,To bear the rougher part, and mitigate 155By nameless gentle offices her toil.At once they stoop and swell the lusty sheaves;

While thro' their chearful band the rural talkThe rural scandal, and the rural jestFly harmless, to deceive the tedious time, 160And steal unfelt the sultry hours away.Behind the master walks, builds up the shocks;And, conscious, glancing oft on every sideHis fated eye, feels his heart heave with joy.The gleaners spread around, and here and there, 165Spike after spike, their scanty harvest pick.Be not too narrow, husbandmen! but flingFrom the full sheaf, with charitable stealth,The liberal handful. Think, oh grateful think!How good the God of Harvest is to you; 170Who pours abundance o'er your flowing fields;While these unhappy partners of your kindWide-hover round you, like the fowls of heaven,And ask their humble dole. The various turnsOf fortune ponder; that your sons may want 175What 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, 180She, with her widow'd mother, feeble, old,And poor, liv'd in a cottage, far retir'dAmong the windings of a woody vale;By solitude and deep surrounding shades,But more by bashful modesty, conceal'd, 185Together thus they shunn'd the cruel scornWhich virtue, sunk to poverty, would meetFrom giddy passion and low-minded, pride:Almost on Nature's common bounty fed;Like the gay birds that sung them to repose, 190Content, and careless of to-morrow's fare.Her form was fresher than the morning-rose,

When the dew wets its leaves; unstain'd, and pureAs is the lily, or the mountain snow.The modest virtues mingled in her eyes, 195Still on the ground dejected, darting allTheir humid beams into the blooming flowers:Or when the mournful tale her mother told,Of what her faithless fortune promis'd once,Thrill'd in her thought, they, like the dewy star 200Of evening, shone in tears. A native graceSat fair proportion'd on her polish'd limbs,Veil'd in a simple robe, their best attire,Beyond the pomp of dress; for lovelinessNeeds not the foreign aid of ornament, 205But is when unadorn'd adorn'd the most.Thoughtless of beauty, she was beauty's self,Recluse amid the close-embowering woods.As in the hollow breast of Appenine,Beneath the shelter of encircling hills, 210A myrtle, rises, far from human eye,And breathes its balmy fragrance o'er the wild;So flourish'd blooming, and unseen by all,The sweet Lavinia; till, at length, compell'dBy strong Necessity's supreme command, 215With smiling patience in her looks, she wentTo glean Palemon's field. The pride of swainsPalemon was, the generous, and the rich;Who led the rural life in all its joy,And elegance, such as Arcadian song 220Transmits from ancient uncorrupted times;When tyrant custom had not shackled Man,But free to follow Nature was the mode.He then, his fancy with autumnal scenesAmusing, chanc'd beside his reaper-train 225To 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 halfThe charms her down-cast modesty conceal'd. 230That very moment love and chaste desireSprung 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! 235And thus in secret to his soul he sigh'd.

"What pity! that so delicate a form,By beauty kindled, where enlivening sense,And more than vulgar goodness seem to dwell,Should be devoted to the rude embrace 240Of some indecent clown! she looks, methinks,Of old Acasto's line; and to my mindRecalls that patron of my happy life,From whom my liberal fortune took its rise;Now to the dust gone down; his houses, lands, 245And once fair-spreading family dissolv'd.'Tis said that in some lone 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, 250Whom yet my fruitless search could never find.Romantic wish, would this the daughter were!"

When, strict enquiring, from herself he foundShe was the same, the daughter of his friend,Of bountiful Acasto; who can speak 255The mingled passions that surpriz'd his heart,And thro' his nerves in shivering transport ran?Then blaz'd his smother'd flame, avow'd, and bold;And as he view'd her, ardent, o'er and o'er,Love, gratitude, and pity wept at once. 260

Confus'd, and frightened at his sudden tears,Her rising beauties flush'd a higher bloom,As thus Palemon, passionate, and just,Pour'd out the pious rapture of his soul.

"And art thou then Acasto's dear remains?— 265She, whom my restless gratitude has sought,So long in vain? oh heavens! the very same,The soften'd image of my noble friend,Alive, his every feature, every look,More elegantly touch'd. Sweeter than spring! 270Thou sole surviving blossom from the root,That nourish'd up my fortune! Say, ah where,In what sequester'd desart, hast thou drawnThe kindest aspect of delighted Heaven?Into such beauty spread, and blown so fair; 275Th o' poverty's cold wind, and crushing 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; 280And of my garden be the pride, and joy!It ill befits thee, oh it ill befitsAcasto's daughter, his, whose open stores,Tho' vast, were little to his ampler heart,The father of a country, thus to pick 285The very refuse of those harvest-fields,Which from his bounteous friendship I enjoy.Then throw that shameful pittance from thy hand,But ill apply'd to such a rugged task;The fields, the master, all, my fair, are thine; 290If to the various blessings which thy houseHas on me lavish'd, thou wilt add that bliss.That dearest bliss, the power of blessing thee!"

Here ceas'd the youth: yet still his speaking eyeExpress'd the sacred triumph of his soul, 295With conscious virtue, gratitude, and love,Above the vulgar, joy divinely rais'd.Nor waited he reply. Won by the charmOf goodness irresistible, and allIn sweet disorder lost, she blush'd consent. 300The news immediate to her mother brought,While, pierc'd with anxious thought, she pin'd awayThe 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 305Of setting life shone on her evening-hours:Not less enraptur'd than the happy pair;Who flourish'd long in tender bliss, and rear'dA numerous offspring, lovely like themselves,And good; the grace of all the country round. 310

Defeating oft the labours of the year,The sultry south collects a potent blast.At first, the groves are scarcely seen to stirTheir trembling tops; and a still murmur runsAlong the soft-inclining fields of corn: 315But as th' aërial tempest fuller swells,And in one mighty stream, invisible,Immense, the whole excited atmosphere,Impetuous rushes o'er the founding world;Strain'd to the root, the stooping forest pours 320A 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, 325Thro' all the sea of harvest rolling round,The billowy plain floats wide; nor can evade,

Tho' pliant to the blast, its seizing force;Or whirl'd in air, or into vacant chaffShook waste. And sometimes too a burst of rain, 330Swept from the black horizon, broad, descendsIn one continuous flood. Still over headThe mingling tempest weaves its gloom, and stillThe deluge deepens; till the fields aroundLie sunk, and flatted, in the sordid wave. 335Sudden, the ditches swell; the meadows swim.Red, from the hills, innumerable streamsTumultuous roar; and high above its banksThe river lift; before whose rushing tide,Herds, flocks, and harvests, cottages, and swains, 340Roll 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 eminene, the husbandman,Helpless beholds the miserable wreck 345Driving along; his drowning ox at onceDescending, with his labours scatter'd round,He sees; and instant o'er his shivering thoughtComes winter unprovided, and a trainOf clamant children dear. Ye masters, then, 350Be 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, 355Which covers yours with luxury profuse,Makes your glass sparkle, and your senfe rejoice!Nor cruelly demand what the deep rains,And all-involving winds have swept away.

Here the rude clamour of the sportsman's joy, 360The gun fast-thundering, and the winded horn,

Would tempt the Muse to sing the rural Game:How, in his mid-career, the spaniel struck,Stiff, by the tainted gale, with open nose,Outstretch'd, and finely sensible, draws full, 365Fearful, and cautious, on the latent prey;As in the sun the circling covey baskTheir varied plumes, and watchful every wayThro' the rough stubble turn the secret eye.Caught in the meshy snare, in vain they beat 370Their idle 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, 375Immediate, brings them from the towering wing,Dead to the ground; or drives them wide-dispers'd,Wounded, and wheeling various, down the wind.

These are not subjects for the peaceful Muse,Nor will she stain with such her spotless song; 380Then most delighted, when she social seesThe whole mix'd animal-creation roundAlive, and happy. 'Tis not joy to her,This falsely-cheerful barbarous game of death;This rage of pleasure, which the restless youth 385Awakes, impatient, with the gleaming morn;When beasts of prey retire, that all night long,Urg'd by necessity, had rang'd the dark,As if their conscious ravage shun'd the light,Asham'd. Not so the steady tyrant man, 390Who with the thoughtless insolence of powerInflam'd, beyond the most infuriate wrathOf the worst monster that e'er roam'd the waste,For sport alone pursues the cruel chace,Amid the beamings of the gentle days. 395

Ubraid, ye ravening tribes, our wanton rage,For hunger kindles you, and lawless want;But lavish fed, in Nature's bounty roll'd,To joy at anguish, and delight in blood,Is what your horrid bosoms never knew. 400

Poor is the triumph o'er the timid hare!Scar'd from the corn, and now to some lone featRetir'd: the rushy fen; the ragged furze,Stretch'd o'er the stony heath: the stubble chapt;The thistly lawn; the thick entangled broom; 405Of 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 410Conceal'd, with folded ears; unsleeping eyes,By Nature rais'd to take th' horizon in;And head couch'd close betwixt her hairy feet,In act to spring away. The scented dewBetrays her early labyrinth; and deep, 415In scatter'd sullen openings, far behind,With every breeze she hears the coming storm.But nearer, and more frequent, as it loadsThe sighing gale, she springs amaz'd, and allThe savage soul of game is up at once: 420The pack full-opening, various; 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, allMix'd in mad tumult, and discordant joy. 425

The stag too, singled from the herd, where longHe rang'd the branching monarch of the shades,Before the tempest drives. At first, in speedHe, sprightly, puts his faith; and, rous'd by fear

Gives all his swift aërial soul to flight. 430Against the breeze he darts, that way the moreTo leave the lessening murderous cry behind.Deception short! tho' fleeter than the windsBlown o'er the keen-air'd mountain by the north,He bursts the thickets, glances thro' the glades, 435And plunges deep into the wildest wood;If slow, yet sure, adhesive to the trackHot-steaming, up behind him come againTh' inhuman rout, and from the shady depthExpel him, circling thro' his every shift. 440He sweeps the forest oft; and sobbing seesThe glades, mild-opening to the golden day;Where, in kind contest, with his butting friendsHe wont to struggle, or his loves enjoy.Oft in the full-descending flood he tries 445To lose the scent, and lave his burning sides;Oft seeks the herd; the watchful herd, alarm'd,With selfish care avoid a brother's woe.What shall he do? his once so vivid nerves,So full of buoyant spirit, now no more 450Inspire the course; but fainting 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, 455Blood-happy, hang at his fair jutting chest,And mark his beauteous chequer'd sides with gore.

Of this enough. But if the sylvan youthWhose fervent blood boils into violence,Must have the chace; behold, despising flight, 460The rous'd-up lion, 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 fhaggy foe 465Vindictive fix, and let the ruffian die:Or, growling horrid, as the brindled boarGrins fell destruction, to the monster's heartLet the dart lighten from the nervous arm.

These Britain knows not; give, ye Britons, then 470Your sportive fury, pityless, to pourLoose on the nightly robber of the fold:Him, from his craggy winding haunts unearth'd,Let all the thunder of of the chace pursue.Throw the broad ditch behind you; o'er the hedge 475High-bound, resistless; nor the deep morassRefuse, but thro' the shaking wildernessPick your nice way; into the perilous floodBear fearless, of the raging instinct full;And as you ride the torrent, to the banks 480Your triumph sound sonorous, running round,From rock to rock, in circling echos tost;Then scale the mountains to their woody tops;Rush down the dangerous steep; and o'er the lawn,In fancy swallowing up the space between, 485Pour all your speed into the rapid game.For happy he! who tops the wheeling chace;Has every maze evolv'd, and every guileDisclos'd; who knows the merits of the pack,Who saw the villain seiz'd, and dying hard, 490Without complaint, tho' by an hundred mouthsRelentless torn: o glorious he, beyondHis daring peers! when the retreating hornCalls them to ghostly halls of grey renown,With woodland honours grac'd; the fox's fur, 495Depending decent from the roof; and spreadRound the drear walls, with antick figures fierce,

The stag's large front: he then is loudest heard,When the night staggers with severer toils,With feats Thessalian Centaurs never knew, 500And their repeated wonders shake the dome.

But first the fuel'd chimney blazes wide;The tankards foam; and the strong table groansBeneath the smoaking sirloin, stretch'd immenseFrom side to side; in which, with desperate knife. 505They deep incision make, and talk the whileOf England's glory, ne'er to be defac'd,While hence they borrow vigour: or amainInto the pasty plung'd, at intervals,If stomach keen can intervals allow, 510Relating all the glories of the chace.Then sated Hunger bids his brother ThirstProduce the mighty bowl; the mighty bowl,Swell'd high with fiery juice, steams liberal roundA potent gale, delicious as the breath 515Of Maia, to the love-sick shepherdess,On violets diffus'd, while soft she hearsHer panting shepherd stealing to her arms.Nor wanting is the brown October, drawnMature and perfect, from his dark retreat 520Of thirty years; and now his honest frontFlames in the light refulgent, not afraidEven with the vineyard's best produce to vie.To cheat the thirsty moments, whist a whileWalks his dull round, beneath a cloud of smoak, 525Wreath'd fragrant from the pipe; or the quick dice,In thunder leaping from the box, awakeThe sounding gammon: while romp-loving missIs haul'd about, in gallantry robust.

At last these puling idlenesses laid 530Aside, frequent and full, the dry divan

Close in firm circle; and set, ardent, inFor serious drinking. Nor evasion fly,Nor sober shift, is to the puking wretchIndulg'd apart; but earnest, brimming bowls 535Lave every soul, the table floating round,And pavement, faithless to the fuddled foot.Thus as they swim in mutual swill, the talk,Vociferous at once from twenty tongues,Reels fast from theme to theme; from horses, hounds, 540To church or mistress, politicks or ghost,In endless mazes, intricate, perplex'd.Mean-time, with sudden interruption, loud,Th' impatient catch bursts from the joyous heart:That moment touch'd is every kindred soul; 545And, opening in a full-mouth'd Cry of joy.The laugh, the slap, the jocund curse go round;While from their slumbers shook, the kennel'd houndsMix in the music of the day again.As when the tempest, that has vex'd the deep 550The dark night long with fainter murmurs falls:So gradual sinks their mirth. Their feeble tongues,Unable to take up the cumbrous word,Lie quite dissolv'd. Before their maudlin eyes,Seen dim, and blue, the double tapers dance, 555Like the sun wading thro' the misty sky.Then, sliding soft, they drop. Confus'd above,Glasses and bottles, pipes and gazetteers,As if the table even itself was drunk,Lie a wet broken scene; and wide, below, 560Is heap'd the social daughter: where astrideThe lubber Power in filthy triumph sits,Slumbrous, inclining still from side to side,And steeps them drench'd in potent sleep till morn.Perhaps some doctor, of tremendous paunch, 565Awful and deep, a black abyss of drink,

Out-lives them all; and from his bury'd flockRetiring, full of rumination sad,Laments the weakness of these latter times.

But if the rougher sex by this fierce sport 570Is hurrie'd wild, let not such horrid joyE'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; 575The cap, the whip, the masculine attire,In which they roughen to the sense, and allThe winning softness of their sex is lost.In them 'tis graceful to dissolve at woe;With every motion, every word, to wave 580Quick 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. 585O 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 limbsFloat in the loose simplicity of dress! 590And, fashion'd all to harmony, aloneKnow they to seize the captivated soul,In rapture warbled from love-breathing lips;To teach the lute to languish; with smooth step,Disclosing motion in its every charm, 595To swim along, and swell the mazy dance;To train the foliage o'er the snowy lawn;To guide the pencil, turn the tuneful page;To lend new flavour to the fruitful year,And heighten Nature's dainties; in their race 600

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 gentle care-eluding art, 705To raise the virtues, animate the bliss,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 610Falls hoarse from steep to steep. In close array,Fit for the thickets, and the tangling shrub,Ye virgins, come. For you their latest songThe woodlands raise; the clustring nuts for youThe lover finds amid the secret shade; 615And, 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: 620Melinda! form'd with every grace complete,Yet these neglecting, above beauty wife,And far transcending such a vulgar praise.

Hence from the busy joy-resounding fields,In chearful error, let us tread the maze 625Of Autumn, unconfin'd; and taste, reviv'd,The breath of orchard big with bending fruit.Obedient to the breeze and beating ray,From the deep loaded bough a mellow showerIncessant melts away. The juicy pear 630Lies, 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, 635In ever-changing composition mixt.Such, falling frequent thro' the chiller night,The fragrant stores, the wide-projected heapsOf Apples, which the lusty-handed year,Innumerous, o'er the blushing orchard shakes. 640A various spirit, fresh, delicious, keen,Dwells in their gelid pores; and, active, pointsThe piercing cyder for the thirsty tongue:Thy native theme, and boon inspirer too,Phillips, Pomona's bard, the second thou 645Who nobly durst, in rhyme-unfetter'd verse,With British freedom sing the British song;How, from Silurian vats, high-sparkling winesFoam in transparent floods; some strong, to cheerThe wintry revels of the labouring hind; 650And tasteful some, to cool the summer-hours.

In this glad season, while his sweetest beamsThe sun sheds equal o'er the meekened day;Oh lose me in the green delightful walksOf, Dodington! thy seat, serene and plain; 655Where 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, 660Far-splendid, seizes on the ravish'd eye.New beauties rise with each revolving day;New columns swell; and still the fresh Spring findsNew plants to quicken, and new groves to green.Full of thy genius all! the Muses' seat; 665Where in the secret bower, and winding walk,For virtuous Young and thee they twine the bay.

Here wandering oft, fir'd with the restless thirstOf thy applause, I solitary courtTh' inspiring breeze; and meditate the book 670Of Nature, ever open; aiming thence,Warm from the heart, to learn the moral song.Here, as I steal along the sunny wall,Where Autumn basks, with fruit empurpled deepMy pleasing theme continual prompts my thought; 675Presents the downy peach; the shining plum,The ruddy fragrant nectarine; and dark,Beneath his ample leaf, the luscious fig.The vine too here her curling tendrils shoots;Hangs out her clusters, glowing to the south; 680And scarcely wishes for a warmer sky.

Turn we a moment Fancy's rapid flightTo vigorous soils, and climes of fair extent;Where, by the potent sun elated high,The vineyard swells refulgent on the day; 685Spreads o'er the vale; or up the mountain climbs,Profuse; and drinks amid the sunny rocks,From cliff to cliff increas'd, the heighten'd blaze.Low bend the weighty boughs. The clusters clear,Half thro' the foliage seen, or ardent flame, 690Or shine transparent; while perfection breathesWhite 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, 695Each 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, 700Round the rais'd nations pours the cup of joy:

The claret smooth, red as the lip we press,In sparkling fancy, while we drain the bowl;The mellow-tailed burgundy; and quick,As is the wit it gives, the gay champaign. 705

Now, by the cool declining year condens'd,Descend the copious exhalations, check'dAs up the middle sky unseen they stole,And roll the doubling fogs around the hill.No more the mountain, horrid, vast, sublime, 710Who pours a sweep of rivers from his sides,And high between contending kingdoms rearsThe rocky long division, fills the viewWith great variety; but in a nightOf gathering vapour, from the baffled sense, 715Sinks dark and dreary. Thence expanding far,The huge dusk, gradual, swallows up the plain:Vanish the woods. The dim-seen river seemsSullen, and slow, to roll the misty wave.Even in the height of noon opprest, the sun 720Sheds weak, and blunt, his wide-refracted ray;Whence glaring oft, with many a broadened 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 725The shepherd stalks gigantic. Till at lastWreath'd dun around, in deeper circles stillSuccessive closing, sits the general fogUnbounded o'er the world; and, mingling thick,A formless grey confusion covers all. 730As when of old (so sung the Hebrew Bard)Light, uncollected, thro' chaos urg'dIts infant way; nor Order yet had drawnHis lovely train from out the dubious gloom.

These roving mists, that constant now begin 735To smoak along the hilly country, these,

With weighty rains, and melted Alpine snows,The mountain-cisterns fill, those ample storesOf water, scoop'd among the hollow rocks:Whence gush the streams, the ceaseless fountains play, 740And their unfailing wealth the rivers draw.Some sages say, that, where the numerous waveFor ever lashes the resounding shore,Drill'd thro' the sandy stratum, every way,The waters with the sandy stratum rise; 745Amid whose angles infinitely strain'd,They joyful leave their jaggy salts behind,And clear and sweeten, as they soak along.Nor stops the restless fluid, mounting still,Tho' oft amidst th' irriguous vale it springs; 740But to the mountain courted by the sand,That leads it darkling on in faithful maze,Far from the parent-main, it boils againFresh into day; and all the glittering hillIs bright with spouting rills. But hence this vain 745Amusive dream! why should the waters loveTo take so far a journey to the hills,When the sweet valleys offer to their toilInviting quiet, and a nearer bed?Or if, by blind ambition led astray, 750They must aspire; why should they sudden stopAmong the broken mountain's rushy dells,And, ere they gain its highest peak, desertTh' attractive sand that charm'd their course so long?Besides, the hard agglomerating salts, 755The spoil of ages, would impervious choakTheir secret channels; or, by slow degrees,High as the hills protrude the swelling vales:Old Ocean too, suck'd thro' the porous globe,Had long ere now forsook his horrid bed, 760And brought Deucalion's watry times again.

Say then, where lurk the vast eternal springs,That, like creating Nature, lie conceal'dFrom mortal eye, yet with their lavish storesRefresh the globe, and all its joyous tribes? 765O thou pervading Genius, given to Man,To trace the secrets of the dark abyss,O lay the mountains bare! and wide displayTheir hidden structure to th' astonish'd view!Strip from the branching Alps their piny load, 770The huge incumbrance of horrific woodsFrom Asian Taurus, from Imaus stretch'dAthwart the roving Tartar's sullen bounds!Give opening Hemus to my searching eye,And high Olympus pouring many a stream! 775O from the sounding summits of the north,The Dofrine Hills, thro' Scandinavia roll'dTo farthest Lapland and the frozen main;From lofty Caucasus, far seen by thoseWho in the Caspian and black Euxine toil; 780From cold Riphean Rocks, which the wild RussBelieves the stony girdle of the world;And all the dreadful mountains, wrapt in storm,Whence wide Siberia draws her lonely floods;O sweep th' eternal snows! hung o'er the deep 785That ever works beneath his sounding base,Bid Atlas, propping heaven, as poets feign,His subterranean wonders spread! unveilThe miny caverns, blazing on the day,Of Abyssinia's cloud-compelling cliffs, 790And of the bending Mountains of the Moon!

Overtopping all these giant-sons of earth,Let the dire Andes, from the radiant LineStretch'd to the stormy seas that thunder roundThe southern pole, their hideous deeps unfold! 795Amazing scene! Behold! the glooms disclose.I see the rivers in their infant beds!Deep, deep I hear them, lab'ring to get free!I see the leaning strata, artful rang'd;The gaping fissures to receive the rains, 800The melting snows, and ever-dripping fogs.Strow'd bibulous above I see the sands,The pebbly gravel next, the layers thenOf mingled moulds, of more retentive earths.The gutter'd rocks and mazy-running clefts; 805That, while the stealing moisture they transmit,Retard its motion, and forbid its waste.Beneath th' incessant weeping of these drains,I see the rocky siphons stretch'd immense,The mighty reservoirs, of harden'd chalk, 810Or stiff compacted clay, capacious form'd.O'erflowing thence, the congregated stores,The crystal treasures of the liquid world,Thro' the stirr'd sends a bubbling passage burst;And welling out, the middle steep, 815Or from the bottoms of the bosom'd hills,In pure effusion flow. United, thus,Th' exhaling sun, the vapour-burden'd air,The gelid mountains, that to rain condens'dThese vapours in continual current draw, 820And send them, o'er the fair-divided earth,In bounteous rivers to the deep again,A social commerce hold, and firm supportThe full-adjusted harmony of things.

When Autumn scatters his departing gleams, 825Warn'd of approaching Winter, gather'd, playThe swallow-people; and toss'd wide around,O'er the calm sky, in convolution swift,The feather'd eddy floats: rejoicing once,Ere to their wintry slumbers they retire; 830In clusters clung, beneath the mouldring bank,And where, unpierc'd by frost, the cavern sweats.Or rather into warmer climes convey'd,With other kindred birds of season, thereThey twitter chearful, till the vernal months 835Invite them welcome back: for, thronging, nowInnumerous wings are in commotion all.

Where the Rhine loses his majestic forceIn Belgian plains, won from the raging deep,By diligence amazing, and the strong 840Unconquerable hand of Liberty,The stork-assembly meets; for many a day,Consulting deep, and various, ere they takeTheir arduous voyage thro' the liquid skyAnd now their rout design'd, their leaders chose, 845Their 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 highTh' aërial billows, mixes with the clouds. 850

Or where the Northern ocean, in vast whirls,Boils round the naked melancholy islesOf farthest Thule, and th' Atlantic surgePours in among the stormy Hebrides;Who can recount what transmigrations there 855Are annual made? what nations come and go?And how the living clouds on clouds arise?

Infinite wings! till all the plume-dark air,And rude resounding shore are one wild cry.

Here the plain harmless native his small flock, 860And herd diminutive of many hues,Tends on the little island's verdant swell,The shepherd's sea-girt reign; or, to the rocksDire-clinging, gathers his ovarious food;Or sweeps the fishy shore; or treasures up 865The plumage, rising full, to form the bedOf 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 waving main, 870Invested with a keen diffusive sky,Breathing the soul acute; her forests huge,Incult, robust, and tall, by Nature's handPlanted of old: her azure lakes between,Pour'd out extensive, and of watry wealth 875Full; winding deep, and green, her fertile vales;With many a cool translucent brimming floodWash'd lovely, from the Tweed (pure parent-stream,Whose pastoral banks first wak'd my Doric reed,With, silvan Jed, thy tributary brook) 880To where the north-inflated tempest foamsO'er Orca's or Betubium's highest peak:Nurse of a people, in misfortune's schoolTrain'd up to hardy deeds; soon visitedBy Learning, when before the Gothic rage 885She took her western flight. A manly race,Of unsubmitting spirit, wise, and brave;Who still thro' bleeding ages struggled hard,(As well unhappy Wallace can attest,Great patriot-hero! ill-requited chief!) 890

To hold a generous undiminish'd state;Too much in vain! hence of unequals boundsImpatient, and by tempting glory borneO'er every land, for every land their lifeHas flow'd profuse, their piercing genius plan'd, 895And 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 powerThat best, that godlike luxury is placed, 900Of blessing thousands, thousands yet unborn,Thro' late posterity? some, large of soul,To chear dejected industry? to giveA double harvest to the pining swain?And teach the labouring hand the sweets of toil? 905How, by the finest art, the native robeTo 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 910Defraud us of the glittering finny swarms.That heave our friths, and croud upon our shores;How all-enlivening trade to rouse, and wingThe prosperous fail, from, every growing port,Uninjur'd, round the sea-incircled globe; 915And thus, in soul united as in name,Bid Britain reign the mistress of the deep.

Yes, there are such. And full on thee, Argile,Her hope, her stay, her darling, and her boast,From her first patriots and her heroes sprung, 920Thy fond imploring country turns her eye:In thee, with all a mother's triumph, seesHer every virtue, every grace combin'd,

Her genius, wisdom, her engaging turn,Her pride of honour, and her courage try'd, 925Calm, and intrepid, in the very throatOf sulphurous war, on Tenier's dreadful field.Nor less the palm of peace inwreathes thy brow:For, powerful as thy sword, from thy rich tonguePersuasion flows, and wins the high debate; 930While 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, 935Thy country feels thro' her reviving arts,Plann'd by thy wisdom, by thy soul inform'd;And seldom has she felt a friend like thee.

But see the fading many-colour'd woods,Shade deepening over shade, the country round 940Imbrown; a crouded umbrage, dusk, and dun,Of every hue, from wan declining greenTo sooty dark. These now the lonesome Muse,Low-whispering, lead into their leaf-strown walks,And give the season in its latest view. 945

Mean-time, light-shadowing all, a sober calmFleeces unbounded ether; whose least waveStands tremulous, uncertain where to turnThe gentle current: while illumin'd wide,The dewy-skirted clouds imbibe the sun, 950And thro' their lucid veil his softened forceShed o'er the peaceful world. Then is the time,For those whom wisdom and whom Nature charm,To steal themselves from the degenerate croud,And soar above this little scene of things; 955To tread low-thoughted vice beneath their feet;

To soothe the throbbing passions into peace;And woe lone Quiet in her silent walks.

Thus solitary, and in pensive guise,Oft let me wander o'er the russet mead; 960And thro' the saddened grove, where scarce is heardOne dying strain, to chear the woodman's toil.Haply some widowed songster pours his plaint,Far, in faint warblings, thro' the tawny copse.While congregated thrushes, linnets, larks, 965And each wild throat, whose artless strains so lateSwell'd all the music of the swarming shades,Robb'd of their tuneful souls, now shivering sitOn the dead tree, a full despondent flock;With not a brightness waving o'er their plumes, 970And nought save chattering discord in their note.O let not, aim'd from some inhuman eye,The gun the music of the coming yearDestroy; and harmless, unsuspecting harm,Lay the weak tribes, a miserable prey, 975In mingled murder, fluttering on the ground!

The pale descending year, yet pleasing still,A gentler mood inspires; for now the leafIncessant rustless from the mournful grove;Oft startling such as, studious, walk below, 980And slowly circles thro' the waving air.But should a quicker breeze amid the boughsSob, o'er the sky the leafy deluge streams;Till choak'd, and matted with the dreary shower,The forest-walks, at every rising gale, 985Roll wide the wither'd waste, and whittle bleak.Fled is the blasted verdure of the fields;And, shrunk into their beds, the flowery raceTheir sunny robes resign, Even what remain'd

Of bolder fruits falls from the naked tree; 990And woods, fields, gardens, orchards, all aroundThe defoliated prospect thrills the soul.

He comes! he comes! in every breeze the PowerOf Philosophic Melancholy comes!His near approach the sudden-starting tear, 995The glowing cheek, the mild dejected air,The softened feature, and the beating heart,Pierc'd deep with many a virtuous pang, declare.O'er all the soul his sacred influence breathes!Inflames imagination; thro' the breast 1000Infuses every tenderness; and farBeyond dim earth exalts the swelling thought.Ten thousand thousand fleet ideas, suchAs never mingled with the vulgar dream,Croud fast into the Mind's creative eye. 1005As fast the correspondent passions rise,As varied, and as high: devotion rais'dTo rapture, and divine astonishment;The love of Nature unconfin'd, and, chief,Of human race; the large ambitious wish, 1010To make them blest; the sigh for suffering worth,Lost in obscurity; the noble scorn,Of tyrant pride, the fearless great resolve;The wonder which the dying patriot draws,Inspiring glory thro' remotest time; 1015Th' awakened throb 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; 1020To 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 voidDeep-sounding, seize th' enthusiastic ear! 1025

Or is this gloom too much? Then lead, ye powers,That o'er the garden and the rural seatPreside, which shining thro' the chearful landIn countless numbers blest Britannia sees;O lead me to the wide-extended walks, 1030The fair majestic paradise of Stowe!Not Persian Cyrus, on Ionia's shore,E'er saw such silvan scenes; such various artBy genius fir'd, such ardent genius tam'dBy cool judicious art; that in the strife, 1035All-beauteous Nature fears to be outdone.And there, O Pitt, thy country's early boast,There let me sit beneath the sheltered slopes,Or in that Temple where, in future times,Thou well shalt merit a distinguish'd name; 1040And, with thy converse blest, catch the last smilesOf Autumn beaming o'er the yellow woods.While there with thee th' inchanted round I walk.The regulated wild, gay Fancy thenWill tread in thought the groves of Attic land; 1045Will from thy standard taste refine her own,Correct her pencil to the purest truthOf Nature, or, the unimpassion'd shadesForsaking, raise it to the human mind.Or if hereafter she, with juster hand, 1050Shall draw the tragic scene, instruct her thou,To mark the varied movements of the heart,What every decent character requires,

And every passion speaks: O thro' her strainBreathe thy pathetic eloquence! that moulds 1055Th' attentive senate, charms, persuades, exalts,Of honest zeal th' indignant lightning throws,And shakes corruption on her venal throne.While thus we talk, and thro' Elysian ValesDelighted rove, perhaps a sigh escapes: 1060What pity, Cobham, thou thy verdant filesOf ordered trees shouldst here inglorious range,Instead of squadrons flaming o'er the field,And long-embattled hosts! when the proud foeThe faithless vain disturber of mankind, 1065Insulting Gaul, has rous'd the world to war;When keen, once more, within their bounds to pressThose polish'd robbers, those ambitious slaves,The British Youth would hail thy wise command,Thy temper'd ardor and thy veteran skill. 1070

The western sun withdraws the shortened day;And humid evening, gliding o'er the sky,In her chill progress, to the ground condens'dThe vapours throws. Where creeping waters ooze,Where marshes stagnate, and where rivers wind, 1075Cluster the rolling fogs, and swim alongThe dusky-mantled lawn. Mean-while the moonFull-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, 1080Where mountains rise, umbrageous dales descend,And caverns deep, as optic tube descries,A smaller earth, gives us his blaze again,Void of its flame, and sheds a softer day.Now thro' the passing cloud she seems to stoop, 1085Now up the pure cerulean rides sublime.

Wide the pale deluge floats, and streaming mildO'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 1090Of silver radiance, trembling round the world.

But when half-blotted from the sky her light,Fainting, permits the starry fires to burn,With keener luster thro' the depth of heaven;Or near extinct her deadened orb appears, 1095And scarce appears, of sickly beamless white;Oft in this season, silent from the northA blaze of meteors shoots: ensweeping firstThe lower skies, they all at once convergeHigh to the crown of heaven, and all at once 1100Relapsing 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 croud,The panic runs, and into wondrous shapes 1105Th' appearance throws: armies in meet array,Throng'd with aërial spears, and steeds of fire;Till the long lines of full-extended warIn bleeding sight commixt, the sanguine floodRolls a broad slaughter o'er the plains of heaven. 1110As thus they scan the visionary scene,On all sides swells the superstitious din,Incontinent; and busy frenzy talksOf blood and battle; cities over-turn'd,And late at night in swallowing earthquake sunk, 1115Or hideous wrapt in fierce ascending flame;Of fallow famine, inundation, storm;Of pestilence, and every great distress;

Empires subvers'd, when ruling fate has struckTh' unalterable hour: even Nature's self 1120Is deem'd to totter on the brink of time.Not so the Man of philosophic eye,And inspect sage; the waving brightness heCurious surveys, inquisitive to knowThe causes, and materials, yet unfix'd, 1125Of this appearance beautiful and new.

Now black, and deep, the night begins to fall,A shade immense. Sunk in the quenching gloom,Magnificent and vast, are heaven and earth.Order confounded lies; all beauty void; 1130Distinction lost: and gay varietyOne universal blot: such the fair powerOf light, to kindle and create the whole.Drear is the state of the benighted wretch,Who then bewildered wanders through the dark, 1135Full 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 rushes, blue, 1140The wild-fire scatters round, or gathered trailsA length of flame deceitful o'er the moss;Whither decoyed by the fantastic blaze,Now lost and now renewed, he sinks absorpt,Rider and horse, amid the miry gulph: 1045While 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, 1150The meteor sits, and shews the narrow path,

That winding leads thro' pits of death, or elseInstructs him how to take the dangerous ford.

The lengthen'd night elaps'd, the morning shinesSerene, in all her dewy beauty bright, 1155Unfolding 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 bladeOf grass, the myriad dew-drops twinkle round. 1160

Ah see where robb'd, and murder'd, in that pit,Lies the frill heaving hive! at evening snatch'd,Beneath the cloud of guilt-concealing night,And fix'd o'er sulphur: while, not dreaming ill,The happy people, in their waxen cells, 1165Sat tending public cares, and planning schemesOf temperance, for Winter poor; rejoic'dTo mark, full-flowing round, their copious stores.Sudden the dark oppressive steam ascends;And, us'd to milder scents, the tender race, 1170By thousands, tumble from their honey'd domes,Convolv'd, and agonizing in the dust.And was it then for this you roam'd the Spring,Intent from flower to flower? for this you toil'dCeaseless the burning Summer-heats away? 1175For this in Autumn search'd the blooming waste,Nor lost one funny gleam? for this sad fate?O Man! tyrannic lord! how long, how long,Shall prostrate Nature groan beneath your rage,Awaiting renovation? when obliged, 1180Must you destroy? of their ambrosial foodCan you not borrow; and, in just return,Afford them shelter from the wintry winds;

Or, as the sharp year pinches, with their ownAgain regale them on some smiling day? 1185See where the stony bottom of their townLooks desolate, and wild; with here and thereA helpless number, who the ruin'd stateSurvive, lamenting weak, cast out to death.Thus a proud city, populous and rich, 1190Full of the works of peace, and high in joy,At theater or feast, or sunk in sleep,(As late, Palermo, was thy Fate) is seiz'dBy some dread earthquake, and convulsive hurl'd,Sheer from the black foundation, stench-involv'd, 1195Into 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 1200Of dew evaporate brushes from the plain.How clear the cloudless sky! how deeply ting'dWith a peculiar blue! th' ethereal archHow swell'd immense! amid whose azure thron'dThe radiant sun how gay! how calm below 1205The gilded earth! the harvest-treasures allNow gather'd in, beyond the rage of storms,Sure to the swain; the circling fence shut up;And instant Winter's utmost rage defy'd.While, loose to festive joy, the country round 1210Laughs with the loud sincerity of mirth,Shook to the wind their cares. The toil-strung youthBy the quick sense of music taught alone,Leaps wildly graceful in the lively dance.Her every charm abroad, the village-toast, 1215Young, buxom, warm, in native beauty rich,

Darts not-unmeaning looks; and, where her eyePoints an approving smile, with double force,The cudgel rattles, and the wrestler twines.Age too shines out; and, garrulous, recounts 1220The feats of youth. Thus they rejoice; nor thinkThat, with to-morrow's sun, their annual toilBegins again the never-ceasing round.

Oh knew he but his happiness, of MenThe happiest he! who far from public rage, 1225Deep 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 crowdOf flatterers false, and in their turn abus'd? 1230Vile 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, 1235For him each rarer tributary lifeBleeds not, and his insatiate table heapsWith luxury, and death? What tho' his bowlFlames not with costly juice; nor sunk in beds,Oft of gay care, he tosses out the night, 1240Or melts the thoughtless hours in idle state?What tho' he knows not those fantastic joys,That still amuse the wanton, still deceive;A face of pleasure, but a heart of pain;Their hollow moments undelighted all? 1245Sure peace is his; a solid life, estrang'dTo disappointment, and fallacious hope:Rich in content, in Nature's bounty rich,In herbs and fruits: whatever greens the Spring,

When heaven descends in showers; or bends the bough, 1250When Summer reddens, and when Autumn beams;Or in the wintry glebe whatever liesConceal'd, and fattens with the richest sap:These are not wanting; nor the milky drove,Luxuriant, spread o'er all the lowing vale; 1255Nor bleating mountains; nor the chide of streams,And hum of bees, inviting sleep sincereInto the guiltless breast, beneath the shade,Or thrown at large amid the fragrant hay:Nor ought besides of prospect, grove, or song, 1260Dim grottos, gleaming lakes, and fountain clear.Here too dwells simple truth; plain innocence;Unsullied beauty; found unbroken youth,Patient of labour, with a little pleas'd;Health ever-blooming; unambitious toil; 1265Calm 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; 1270Unpierc'd, exulting in the widow's wail,The virgin's shriek, and infant's trembling cry.Let some, far-distant from their native foil,Urg'd or by want or harden'd avarice,Find other lands beneath another sun. 1275Let this thro' cities work his eager way,By legal outrage, and establish'd guile,The social sense extinct; and that fermentMad into tumult the seditious herd,Or melt them down to slavery. Let these 1280Insnare 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,Delusive pomp, and dark cabals, delight; 1285Wreathe the deep bow, diffuse the lying smile,And tread the weary labyrinth of state.While he, from all the stormy passions freeThat restless Men involve, hears, and but hears,At distance safe, the human tempest roar, 1290Wrapt 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 month to month, 1295And day to day, thro' the revolving year;Admiring, sees her in her every shape;Feels all her sweet emotions at his heart;Takes what she liberal gives, nor thinks of more.He, when young Spring protrudes the bursting gems, 1300Marks the first bud, and sucks the healthful galeInto his freshen'd soul; her genial hoursHe full enjoys; and not a beauty blows,And not an opening blossom breathes in vain.In Summer he, beneath the living shade, 1305Such as o'er frigid Tempe wont to wave,Or Hemus cool, reads what the Muse, of thesePerhaps, has in immortal numbers sung;Or what she dictates writes; and, oft an eyeShot round, rejoices in the vigorous year. 1310When Autumn's yellow lustre gilds the world,And tempts the sickled swain into the field,Seiz'd by the general joy, his heart distendsWith gentle throws; and, thro' the tepid gleamsDeep-musing, then he best exerts his song. 1315Even Winter wild to him is full of bliss.

The mighty tempest, and the hoary waste,Abrupt, and deep, stretch'd o'er the buried earth,Awake to solemn thought. At night the skies,Disclos'd, and kindled, by refining frost, 1320Pour every lustre on th' exalted 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, 1325Elates his being, and unfolds his powers;Or in his breast heroic Virtue burns.The touch of kindred too and love he feels;The modest eye, whose beams on his aloneExtatic shine; the little strong embrace 1330Of pratling children, twin'd around his neck,And emulous to please him, calling forthThe fond parental soul. Nor purpose gay,Amusement, dance, or song, he sternly scorns;For happiness and true philosophy 1335Are of the social still, and smiling kind.This is the life which those who fret in guilt,And guilty cities, never knew; the life,Led by primeval ages, uncorrupt,When angels dwelt, and God himself, with Man! 1340

Oh Nature! all-sufficient! over all!Inrich 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 blue immense, 1345Shew me; their motions, periods, and their laws,Give me to scan; thro' the disclosing deepLight my blind way: the mineral strata there;Thrust, blooming, thence the vegetable world;

O'er that the rising system, more complex, 1350Of 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! 1355But if to that unequal; if the blood,In sluggish streams about my heart, forbidThat best ambition; under closing shades,Inglorious, lay me by the lowly brook,And whisper to my dreams. From Thee begin, 1360Dwell all on Thee, with Thee conclude my song;And let me never never stray from Thee!