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Dejected wanders, nor the enticing bud
Crops, though it presses on his careless sense.
And oft, in jealous maddening fancy wrapp'd,
He seeks the fight; and, idly butting, feigns
His rival gored in every knotty trank.
Him should he meet, the bellowing war begins;
Their eyes flash fury; to the hollow'd earth,
Whence the sand flies, they mutter bloody deeds,
And, groaning deep, the' impetuous battle mix :
While the fair beifer, balmy-breathing, near,
Stands kindling up their rage. The trembling steed,
With this hot impulse seized in every nerve,
Nor beeds the rein, nor hears the sounding tbong;
Blows are not felt; but, tossing high his head,
And by the well known joy to distant plains
Attracted strong, all wild he bursts away;
O'er rocks and woods and craggy mountains flies;
And, neighing, on the’ aerial summit takes
The' exciting gale; then, steep-descending, cleaves
The headlong torrents foaming down the hills,
E'en where the madness of the straiten’d stream
Turps in black eddies round: such is the force
With wbich his frantic heart and sinews swell.
Nor undelighted by the boundless Spring
Are the broad monsters of the foaming deep:
From the deep ooze and gelid cavern ronsed,
They flounce and tumble in unwieldy joy.
Dire were the strain, and dissonant, to sing
The cruel raptures of the savage kind:
How by this flame their native wrath sublimed,
They roam, amid the fury of their heart,
The far resounding waste in fiercer bands,
And growl their horrid loves. But this the theme
I sing, enraptured, to the British Fair,
Forbids, and leads me to the mountain brow,
Where sits the shepherd on the grassy turf,
Ipbaling, healthful, the descending sun.
Around him feeds his many-bleating flock,
Of various cadence; and his sportive lambs,
This way and that convolved, in friskful glee,
Their frolics play. And now the sprightly race
Invites them forth ; when swift, the signal given,
They start away, and sweep the massy moond
That runs around the bill; the rampart once
Of iron war, in ancient barbarous times,
When disunited Britain ever bled,
Lost in eternal broil : ere yet she grew
To this deep-laid indissoluble state.
Where Wealth and Commerce lift their golden heads:
And o’er our labours Liberty and Law,
Impartial, watch; the wonder of a world!
What is this mighty breath, ye sages, say,
That, in a powerful language, felt, not heard,
Instructs the fowls of heaven? and through their breast
These arts of love diffuses ? What, but God?
Inspiring God! who, boundless Spirit all,
And unremitting Energy, pervades,
Adjusts, sustains, and agitates the whole.
He ceaseless works alone; and yet alone
Seems not to work : with such perfection framed
Is this complex stupendous scheme of things.
But, though conceal'd, to every purer eye
The informing Author in his works appears:
Chief, lovely Spring, in thee, and thy soft scenes,
The Smiling God is seen; while water, earth,
And air attest his bounty, which exalts
The brute creation to this finer thought,
And annual melts their undesigning hearts
Profusely thus in tenderness and joy.
Still let my song a nobler note assume, And sing the infusive force of Spring on man. When heaven and earth, as if contending, vie To raise bis being and serene bis soul, Can he forbear to join the general smile Of Nature? Can'fierce passions vex his breast, While every gale is peace, and every grove Is melody? hence! from the bounteous walks Of flowing Spring, ye sordid sons of earth, Hard, and unfeeling of another's woe; Or only lavish to yoаrselves; away! But come, ye generous minds, in whose wide thought, Of all his works, creative Bounty burns
With warmest beam ; and on your open front
And liberal eye, sits, from his dark retreat
Inviting modest Want. Nor, till invoked,
Can restless goodness wait ; your active searcb
Leaves no cold wintry corner unexplored;
Like silent-working Heaven, surprising oft
The lonely heart with unexpected good.
For you the roving Spirit of the wind
Blows Spring abroad; for you the teeming clouds
Descend in gladsome plenty o'er the world;
And the sun sheds his kindest rays for you,
Ye flower of buman race! in these green days,
Reviving Sickness lifts her languid head;
Life flows afresh; and young-eyed Health exalts
The whole creation round. Contentment walks
The sunny glade, and feels an inward bliss
Spring o'er his mind, beyond the power of kings
To purchase. Pure serenity apace
Induces thought and contemplation still.
By swift degrees the love of Nature works,
And warms the bosom ; till at last, sublimed
To rapture and enthusiastic beat,
We feel the present Deity, and taste
The joy of God to see a happy world !
These are the sacred feelings of thy heart,
Thy beart inform’d by reason's purer ray,
O Lyttelton, the friend ! thy passions thus
And meditations vary, as at large,
Courting the Muse, through Hagley Park thou stray’st;
Tby British Tempé! there along the dale,
With woods o'erhang, and shagg’d with mossy rocks,
Whence on each hand the gushing waters play,
And down the rough cascade white dashing fall,
Or gleam in lengthen’d vista through the trees,
You silent steal; or sit beneath the shade
Of solemn oaks, that tuft the swelling mounts
Thrown graceful round by nature's careless hand,
And pensive listen to the various voice
Of rural peace : the herds, the flocks, the birds,
The bollow-whispering breeze, the plaint of riils
That, purling down amid the twisted roots
Which creep around, their dewy murmurs shake
On the sootħ'd ear. From these abstracted oft,
You wander through the philosophic world;
Where in bright train continual wonders rise,
Or to the curious or the pious eye.
And oft, conducted by historic truth,
You tread the long extent of backward time:
Planning, with warm benevolence of mind
And honest zeal, unwarp'd by party rage,
Britannia's weal; how from the venal gulf
To raise her virtue, and her arts revive.
Or, turning thence thy view, these graver thoughts
The Muses charm: while, with sore taste refined,
You draw the inspiring breath of ancient song;
Till nobly rises, emulous, thy own.
Perhaps thy loved Lucinda shares thy walk,
With soul to thine attuned. Then Nature all
Wears to the lover's eye a look of love;
And all the tumult of a guilty world,
Toss'd by ungenerous passions, sinks away.
The tender heart is animated peace;
And as it pours its copious treasures forth,
In varied converse, softening every theme, .,
You, frequent paosing, turn, and from ber eyes,
Where meeken'd sense, and amiable grace,
And lively sweetness dwell, epraptured, drink
That nameless spirit of etherial joy,
Unutterable happiness! which love
Alone bestows, and on a favour'd few.
Meantime you gain the heigbt, from whose fair brow
The bursting prospect spreads immense around :
And snatch'd o'er hill and dale, and wood and lawn,
And verdant field, and darkening heath between,
And villages embosom’d soft in trees,
And spiry towns by surging columns mark'd
Of housebold smoke, your eye excursive roams :
Wide-stretching from the ball, in whose kind haunt
The Hospitable Genias lingers still,
To where the broken landscape, by degrees
Ascending, roughens into rigid bills;
O’er which the Cambrian mountains, like far clouds
That skirt tbe blue horizon, dusky rise.
Flush'd by the spirit of the genial year,
Now from the virgin's cheek a fresher bloom
Shoots, less and less, the live carnation round;
Her lips blush deeper sweets; she breathes of youth;
The shining moisture swells into her eyes,
In brighter flow; ber wishing bosom heaves
With palpitations wild; kind tumults seize
Her veins, and all her yielding sonl is love.
From the keen gaze her lover turns away,
Fall of the dear ecstatic power, and sick
With sigbing languishment. Ah then, ye fair!
Be greatly cautious of your sliding hearts:
Dare not the' infectious sigh; the pleading look,
Downcast and low, in meek submission dress’d,
But full of guile. Let not the fervent tongue,
Prompt to deceive, with adulation smooth,
Gain on your purposed will. Nor in the bower,
Where woodbines flaunt, and roses shed a couch,
While Evening draws her crimson curtains round,
Trust your soft minutes with betraying Man.
And let the' aspiring youth beware of love,
Of the smooth glance beware : for 'tis too late.
When on his heart the torrent softness pours;
Then wisdom prostrate lies, and fading fame
Dissolves in air away; while the fond soul,
Wrapp'd in gay visions of unreal bliss,
Still paints the illusive form; the kindling grace;
The enticing smile; the modest seeming eye,
Beneath whose beauteous beams, belying heaven,
Lurk searcbless cunning, cruelty, and death:
And still, false-warbling in his cheated ear,
Her siren voice, enchanting, draws him on
To guileful shores and meads of fatal joy.
É'en present, in the very lap of love
Iuglorious laid ; while music flows around,
Perfumes, and oils, and wine, and wanton hours;
Amid the roses fierce Repentance rears
Her snaky crest; a quick returning pang