Then feeks the fartheft ooze, the sheltering weed,
The cavern'd bank, his old fecure abode;
And flies aloft, and flounces round the pool,.
Indignant of the guile. With yielding hand,
That feels him ftill, yet to his furious course
Gives way, you, now retiring, following now
Across the stream, exhauft his idle rage:
Till floating broad upon his breathlefs fide,
And to his fate abandon'd, to the shore
You gaily drag your unrefifting prize.
Thus pafs the temperate hours: but when the fun
Shakes from his noon-day throne the scattering clouds,
Ev'n fhooting liftlefs languor through the deeps;
Then feek the bank where flowering elders crowd,
Where fcatter'd wild the lily of the vale
Its balmy effence breathes, where cowflips hang 445
The dewy head, where purple violets lurk,
With all the lowly children of the fhade:
Or lie reclin'd beneath yon spreading ash,
Hung o'er the fteep; whence, borne on liquid wing,
The founding culver fhoots; or where the hawk, 450
High, in the beetling cliff, his aëry builds.
There let the claffic page thy fancy lead
Through rural fcenes; fuch as the Mantuan fwain
Paints in the matchlefs harmony of fong.
Or catch thyself the landskip, gliding swift
Athwart imagination's vivid eye:
Or by the vocal woods and waters lull'd,
And loft in lonely mufing, in the dream,
Confus'd, of careless folitude, where mix
Ten thousand wandering images of things,
Soothe every guft of paffion into peace;
All but the fwellings of the soften'd heart,
That waken, not disturb, the tranquil mind.
Behold yon breathing profpect bids the Muse
Throw all her beauty forth. But who can paint 465
Like Nature? Can imagination boast,
Amid its gay creation, hues like hers ?
Or can it mix them with that matchlefs skill,
And lofe them in each other, as appears
In every bud that blows? If fancy then
Unequal fails beneath the pleafing task,
Ah, what shall language do? ah, where find words
Ting'd with fo many colours; and whose power,
To life approaching, may perfume my lays
With that fine oil, thofe aromatic gales,
That inexhauftive flow continual round?
Yet, though fuccefslefs, will the toil delight.
Come then, ye virgins and ye youths, whose hearts
Have felt the raptures of refining love;
And thou, Amanda, come, pride of my fong!
Form'd by the Graces, loveliness itself!
Come with those downcaft eyes, fedate and sweet,
Those looks demure, that deeply pierce the foul,
Where, with the light of thoughtful reason mix'd,
Shines lively fancy and the feeling heart:
O come! and while the rofy-footed May
Steals blushing on, together let us tread
The morning dews, and gather in their prime
Fresh-blooming flowers, to grace thy braided hair,
C 2
And thy lov'd bofom that improves their sweets.
See where the winding vale its lavish stores,
Irriguous, fpreads. See, how the lily drinks
The latent rill, scarce oozing through the grass,
Of growth luxuriant; or the humid bank,
.In fair profufion, decks. Long let us walk,
Where the breeze blows from yon extended field
Of bloffom'd beans. Arabia cannot boast
A fuller gale of joy, than, liberal, thence
Breathes through the fenfe, and takes the ravish'd foul. Nor is the mead unworthy of thy foot,
Full of fresh verdure, and unnumber'd flowers,
The negligence of Nature, wide, and wild;
Where, undifguis'd by mimic Art, she spreads
Unbounded beauty to the roving eye.
Here their delicious task the fervent bees,
In fwarming millions, tend: around, athwart,
Through the foft air, the busy nations fly,
Cling to the bud, and, with inferted tube,
Suck its pure effence, its ethereal foul;
And oft, with bolder wing, they foaring dare
The purple heath, or where the wild thyme grows,
And yellow load them with the luscious spoil.
At length the finish'd garden to the view
Its viftas opens, and its alleys green.
Snatch'd through the verdant maze, the hurried eye
Distracted wanders; now the bowery walk
Of covert close, where scarce a speck of day
Falls on the lengthen'd gloom, protracted sweeps:
Now meets the bending sky; the river now
Dimpling along, the breezy ruffled lake,
The foreft darkening round, the glittering spire,
Th' ethereal mountain, and the distant main.
But why fo far excurfive? when at hand,
Along these blushing borders, bright with dew,
And in yon mingled wilderness of flowers,
Fair-handed Spring unbofoms every grace;
Throws out the fnow-drop, and the crocus firft;
The daify, primrofe, violet darkly blue,
And polyanthus of unnumber'd dyes;
The yellow wall-flower, ftain'd with iron-brown; 530
And lavish flock that fcents the garden round:
From the foft wing of vernal breezes fhed,
Anemonies; auriculas, enrich'd
With shining meal o'er all their velvet leaves;
And full ranunculas of glowing red.
Then comes the tulip-race, where Beauty plays
Her idle freaks; from family diffus'd
To family, as flies the father-duft,
The varied colours run; and, while they break
On the charm'd eye, th' exulting florist marks,
With fecret pride, the wonders of his hand.
No gradual bloom is wanting; from the bud,
First-born of Spring, to Summer's mufky tribes :
Nor hyacinths, of pureft virgin white,
Low-bent, and blushing inward; nor jonquils,
Of potent fragrance; nor Narciffus fair,
As o'er the fabled fountain hanging still;
Nor broad carnations, nor gay-spotted pinks;
Nor, fhower'd from every bush, the damask-rose.
Infinite numbers, delicacies, fmells,
With hues on hues expreffion cannot paint,
The breath of Nature, and her endless bloom.
Hail, Source of Being! Universal Soul
Of heaven and earth! Effential Prefence, hail!
To Thee I bend the knee; to Thee my thoughts, 555
Continual, climb; who, with a master-hand,
Haft the great whole into perfection touch'd.
By Thee the various vegetative tribes,
Wrapt in a filmy net, and clad with leaves,
Draw the live ether, and imbibe the dew:
By Thee difpos'd into congenial foils,
Stands each attractive plant, and fucks, and fwells
The juicy tide; a twining mafs of tubes.
At Thy command the vernal fun awakes
The torpid fap, detruded to the root
By wintery winds; that now in fluent dance,
And lively fermentation, mounting, spreads
All this innumerous-colour'd scene of things.
As rifing from the vegetable world
My theme afcends, with equal wing ascend,
My panting Mufe; and hark, how loud the woods
Invite you forth in all your gayest trim.
Lend me your fong, ye nightingales! oh! pour
The mazy-running foul of melody
Into my varied verfe! while I deduce,
From the firft note the hollow cuckoo fings,
The fymphony of Spring, and touch a theme
Unknown to fame, the Paffion of the groves.
When firft the foul of love is fent abroad,
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