Warm through the vital air, and on the heart Harmonious feizes, the gay troops begin, In gallant thought to plume the painted wing; And try again the long-forgotten strain,
At first faint-warbled. But no fooner grows The foft infufion prevalent and wide,
Than, all alive, at once their joy o'erflows In mufic unconfin'd. Up-fprings the lark, Shrill-voic'd, and loud, the meffenger of morn; Ere yet the shadows fly, he mounted fings
Amid the dawning clouds, and from their haunts 590 Calls up the tuneful nations. Every copfe
Deep-tangled, tree irregular, and bush
Bending with dewy moisture, o'er the heads Of the coy quiristers that lodge within, Are prodigal of harmony. The thrush
And wood-lark, o'er the kind-contending throng Superior heard, run through the sweetest length Of notes; when liftening Philomela deigns To let them joy, and purposes, in thought Elate, to make her night excel their day. The black-bird whistles from the thorny brake; The mellow bullfinch answers from the grove : Nor are the linnets, o'er the flowering furze Pour'd out profufely, filent. Join'd to these Innumerous fongsters, in the freshening shade Of new-fprung leaves, their modulations mix Mellifluous. The jay, the rook, the daw, And each harsh pipe, difcordant heard alone, Aid the full concert: while the stock-dove breathes
A melancholy murmur through the whole. 'Tis love creates their melody, and all This waste of mufic is the voice of love;
That ev'n to birds, and beafts, the tender arts Of pleafing teaches. Hence the gloffy kind Try every winning way inventive love
Can dictate, and in courtship to their mates
Pour forth their little fouls. First, wide around, With diftant awe, in airy rings they rove, Endeavouring by a thousand tricks to catch The cunning, confcious, half-averted glance Of their regardless charmer. Should the feem Softening the least approvance to bestow, Their colours burnish, and, by hope infpir'd, They brisk advance; then, on a fudden struck, Retire diforder'd; then again approach; In fond rotation fpread the spotted wing, And fhiver every feather with defire.
Connubial leagues agreed, to the deep woods They hafte away, all as their fancy leads, Pleafure, or food, or fecret fafety prompts; That Nature's great command may be obey'd: Nor all the fweet fenfations they perceive Indulg'd in vain. Some to the holly-hedge Neftling repair, and to the thicket fome; Some to the rude protection of the thorn Commit their feeble offspring: the cleft tree Offers its kind concealment to a few,
Their food its infects, and its mofs their nefts. Others apart far in the graffy dale,
Or roughening wafte, their humble texture weave. 640 But moft in woodland folitudes delight,
In unfrequented glooms, or shaggy banks, Steep, and divided by a babbling brook,
And bound with clay together. Now 'tis nought But reftlefs hurry through the busy air,
Whofe murmurs foothe them all the live-long day, When by kind duty fix'd. Among the roots Of hazel, pendent o'er the plaintive stream, They frame the first foundation of their domes; Dry fprigs of trees, in artful fabric laid,
Beat by unnumber'd wings. The fwallow sweeps The flimy pool, to build his hanging house Intent. And often, from the careless back Of herds and flocks a thousand tugging bills Pluck hair and wool; and oft, when unobserv'd, 655 Steal from the barn a ftraw: till foft and warm, Clean, and complete, their habitation grows.
As thus the patient dam affiduous fits,
Not to be tempted from her tender task, Or by sharp hunger, or by smooth delight,
Though the whole loofen'd Spring around her blows. Her fympathizing lover takes his stand
High on th' opponent bank, and ceafelefs fings The tedious time away; or else fupplics Her place a moment, while fhe fudden flits To pick the fcanty meal. Th' appointed time With pious toil fulfil'd, the callow Warm'd and expanded into perfect life, Their brittle bondage break, and come to light,
A helpless family, demanding food
With conftant clamour: O what paffions then,
What melting fentiments of kindly care,
On the new parents feize! Away they fly
Affectionate, and undefiring bear
The most delicious morfel to their young; Which equally distributed, again
The fearch begins. Ev'n fo a gentle pair,
By fortune funk, but form'd of generous mold, And charm'd with cares beyond the vulgar breaft, In fome lone cot amid the distant woods, Suftain'd alone by providential Heaven, Oft, as they weeping eye their infant train, Check their own appetites, and give them all. Nor toil alone they scorn: exalting love, By the great Father of the Spring infpir'd, Gives inftant courage to the fearful race, And to the fimple art. With stealthy wing, Should fome rude foot their woody haunts moleft, Amid a neighbouring bufh they filent drop,
And whirring thence, as if alarm'd, deceive
Th' unfeeling school-boy. Hence, around the head Of wandering fwain, the white-wing'd plover wheels Her founding flight, and then directly on
In long excurfion skims the level lawn,
To tempt him from her neft. The wild-duck, hence, O'er the rough mofs, and o'er the tracklefs wafte The heath-hen flutters, pious fraud! to lead
The hot pursuing spaniel far aftray.
Be not the Mufe afham'd, here to bemoan
Her brothers of the grove, by tyrant man Inhuman caught, and in the narrow cage From liberty confin'd, and boundless air. Dull are the pretty flaves, their plumage dull, Ragged, and all its brightening luftre loft; Nor is that sprightly wildness in their notes, Which, clear and vigorous, warbles from the beech. O then, ye friends of love and love-taught fong, Spare the foft tribes, this barbarous art forbear; bofom innocence can win,
If on your Mufic engage, or piety perfuade.
But let not chief the nightingale lament 'Her ruin'd care, too delicately fram'd
To brook the harsh confinement of the cage. Oft when, returning with her loaded bill, Th' aftonish'd mother finds a vacant neft, By the hard hand of unrelenting clowns Robb'd, to the ground the vain provision falls; Her pinions ruffle, and, low-drooping, scarce Can bear the mourner to the poplar shade; Where, all abandon'd to defpair, the fings
Her forrows through the night; and, on the bough, Sole-fitting, ftill at every dying fall
Takes up again her lamentable strain
Of winding woe; till, wide around, the woods Sigh to her fong, and wit!: her wail refound.
But now the feather'd youth their former bounds, Ardent, disdain; and, weighing oft their wings, Demand the free poffeffion of the sky:
This one glad office more, and then diffolves
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