Sweet-O fweet, the warbling throng
On the white emblossom'd spray!
Nature's univerfal fong
Echoes to the rifing day.
FERVID on the glitt'ring flood,
Now the noontide radiance glows:
Drooping o'er its infant bud,
Not a dew-drop's left the rose.
By the brook the fhepherd dines,
From the fierce meridian heat;
Shelter'd by the branching pines
Pendent o'er his grafly feat.
Now the flock forfakes the glade,
Where uncheck'd the fun-beams fall:
Sure to find a pleafing fhade,
By the ivy'd abbey wall.
Echo in her airy round,
O'er the river, rock, and hill, Cannot catch a fingle found,
Save the clack of yonder mill.
Cattle court the zephyrs bland, Where the ftreamlet wanders cool; Or with languid silence stand Midway in the marshy pool.
But from mountain, dell, or stream, Not a flutt'ring zephyr springs; Fearful, left the noon-tide beam Scorch its foft, its filken wings.
Not a leaf has leave to stir,
Nature's lull'd-ferene-and still
Quiet e'en the fhepherd's cur,
Sleeping on the heath-clad hill.
Languid is the landscape round,
Till the fresh descending shower,
Grateful to the thirsty ground,
Raises ev'ry fainting flower.
Now the hill-the hedge-is green, Now the warbler's throat's in tune; Blithfome is the vernal fcene, Brighten'd by the beams of noon!
O'er the heath the heifer ftrays
Free ;-(the furrow'd task is done)
Now the village windows blaze,
Burnish'd by the setting fun.
Now he fets behind the hill,
Sinking from a golden sky;
Can the pencil's mimic skill,
Copy the refulgent dye?
Trudging as the plowmen go,
(To the fmoking hamlet bound)
Giant-like their fhadows grow,
Lengthen'd o'er the level ground.
Where the rifing forest spreads
Shelter for the lordly dome,
To their high-built airy beds,
See the rooks returning home.
As the lark, with varied tune,
Carols to the evening loud,
Mark the mild refplendent moon,
Breaking through a parted cloud!
Now the hermit owlet peeps
From the barn, or twisted brake: And the blue mift flowly creeps, Curling on the filver lake.
As the trout, in fpeckled pride,
Playful from its bofom fprings,
To the banks a ruffled tide
Verges in fucceffive rings.
'Tripping through the filken grafs,
O'er the path-divided dale,
Mark the rofe-complexion'd lafs
With her well pois'd milken pail.
Linnets with unnumber'd notes,
And the cuckow bird with two,
Tuning fweet their mellow throats,
Bid the setting fun adieu.
THESE, as they change, Almighty Father! thefe
Are but the varied God. The rolling year
Is full of Thee. Forth in the pleafing Spring
Thy beauty walks, Thy tendernefs and love.
Wide flush the fields; the foftening air is balm;
Echo the mountains round; the forest smiles;
And every sense and every heart is joy.
Then comes Thy glory in the Summer months,
With light and heat refulgent. Then thy fun
Shoots full perfection through the fwelling year;
And oft Thy voice in dreadful thunder fpeaks;
And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve,
By brook, and grove, in hollow-whispering gales.
Thy bounty fhines in Autumn unconfin'd,
And fpreads a common feast for all that lives.
In Winter awful Thou! with clouds and storms
Around thee thrown! tempeft o'er tempeft roll'd!
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