COME, gentle SPRING, ethereal Mildness, come,
And from the bofom of yon dropping cloud,
While mufic wakes around, veil'd in a shower
Of shadowing rofes, on our plains defcend.
O HARTFORD, fitted or to fhine in courts
With unaffected grace, or walk the plain
With innocence and meditation join'd
In foft affemblage, liften to my fong,
Which thy own Season paints; when Nature all
Is blooming and benevolent, like thee.
And fee where furly WINTER paffes off,
Far to the north, and calls his ruffian blasts:
His blafts obey, and quit the howling hill,
The shatter'd foreft, and the ravag'd vale;
While fofter gales fucceed, at whose kind touch,
Diffolving fnows in livid torrents loft,
The mountains lift their green heads to the sky.
As yet the trembling year is unconfirm❜d,
And WINTER oft at eve resumes the breeze,
Chills the pale morn, and bids his driving fleets
Deform the day delightless; so that scarce
The bittern knows his time, with bill ingulph'd
To shake the founding marsh; or from the shore
The plovers when to scatter o'er the heath,
And fing their wild notes to the listening waste.
At laft from Aries rolls the bounteous fun,
And the bright Bull receives him. Then no more
Th' expanfive atmosphere is cramp'd with cold;
But, full of life and vivifying foul,
Lifts the light clouds fublime, and spreads them thin,
Fleecy and white, o'er all furrounding heaven.
Forth fly the tepid airs; and unconfin'd,
Unbinding earth, the moving softness strays.
Joyous, th' impatient husbandman perceives
Relenting Nature, and his lufty fteers
Drives from their ftalls, to where the well-us'd plough
Lies in the furrow, loofen'd from the froft.
There, unrefufing, to the harness'd yoke
They lend their shoulder, and begin their toil,
Cheer'd by the fimple fong and foaring lark.
Meanwhile incumbent o'er the shining share
The mafter leans, removes th' obftructing clay,
Winds the whole work, and fidelong lays the glebe.
While thro' the neighb'ring fields the fower stalks,
With meafur'd step; and liberal throws the grain
Into the faithful bofom of the ground:
The harrow follows harsh, and shuts the scene.
Be gracious, HEAVEN! for now laborious Man
Has done his part. Ye foftering breezes, blow!
Ye foftening dews, ye tender fhowers, descend!
And temper all, thou world-reviving fun,
Into the perfect year! Nor ye who live
In luxury and ease, in pomp and pride,
Think thefe loft themes unworthy of
your ear:
Such themes as these the rural MARO fung
To wide-imperial ROME, in the full height
Of elegance and tafte, by GREECE refin’d.
In ancient times, the facred plough employ'd
The kings, and awful fathers of mankind :
And fome, with whom compar'd your infect-tribes
Are but the beings of a fummer's day,
Have held the scale of empire, rul'd the ftorm
Of mighty war; then, with unweary'd hand,
Difdaining little delicacies, feiz'd
The plough, and greatly independent liv'd.
Ye generous BRITONS, venerate the plough;
And o'er your hills, and long withdrawing vales,
Let Autumn fpread his treasures to the fun,
Luxuriant and unbounded: as the sea,
Far thro' his azure turbulent domain,
Your empire owns, and from a thousand shores
Wafts all the pomp of life into your ports ;
So with fuperior boon may your rich foil,
Exuberant, Nature's better bleffings pour
O'er ev'ry land, the naked nations clothe,
And be th' exhaustless granary of a world!
Nor only thro' the lenient air this change,
Delicious, breathes; the penetrative fun,
His force deep-darting to the dark retreat
Of vegetation, fets the fteaming Power
At large, to wander o'er the vernant earth,
In various hues; but chiefly thee, gay Green!
Thou fmiling Nature's univerfal robe!
United light and fhade! where the fight dwells
With growing ftrength, and ever-new delight.
From the moist meadow to the wither'd hill, Led by the breeze, the vivid verdure runs, And fwells, and deepens, to the cherish'd eye. The hawthorn whitens; and the juicy groves Put forth their buds, unfolding by degrees, Till the whole leafy forest stands display'd, In full luxuriance to the fighing gales; Where the deer ruftle thro' the twining brake,
And the birds fing conceal'd. At once array'd
In all the colours of the flufhing year,
By Nature's fwift and fecret-working hand,
The garden glows, and fills the liberal air
With lavish fragrance; while the promis'd fruit
Lies yet a little embryo, unperceiv'd,
Within its crimfon folds. Now from the town
Buried in smoke, and fleep, and noisome damps,
Oft let me wander o'er the dewy fields,
Where freshness breathes, and dash the trembling drops
From the bent bush, as thro' the verdant maze
Of fweet-briar hedges I purfue my walk;
Or taste the smell of dairy; or ascend
Some eminence, AUGUSTA, in thy plains,
And fee the country, far diffus'd around,
One boundless blufh, one white-empurpled shower
Of mingled blossoms; where the raptur'd eye
Hurries from joy to joy, and, hid beneath
The fair profufion, yellow Autumn fpies.
If, brush'd from Ruffian wilds, a cutting gale
Rife not, and scatter from his humid wings
The clammy mildew; or, dry-blowing, breathe
Untimely froft; before whose baleful blast
The full-blown Spring thro' all her foliage shrinks,
Joyless and dead, a wide-dejected waste.
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