Then to the flood she rush'd; the parted flood Its lovely guest with closing waves receiv'd; And every beauty softening, every grace Flushing anew, a mellow lustre shed: As shines the lily through the crystal mild; Or as the rose amid the morning dew, Fresh from Aurora's hand, more sweetly glows. While thus she wanton'd, now beneath the wave But ill-conceal'd; and now with streaming locks, That half-embrac'd her in a humid veil, Rising again, the latent Damon drew
Such maddening draughts of beauty to the soul, As for awhile o'erwhelm'd his raptur'd thought With luxury too daring. Check'd, at last, By love's respectful modesty, he deem'd The theft profane, if aught profane to love Can e'er be deem'd; and, struggling from the shade, With headlong hurry fled: but first these lines, Trac'd by his ready pencil, on the bank With trembling hand he threw. Yet unbeheld, save by the sacred eye Of faithful love: I go to guard thy haunt, To keep from thy recess each vagrant foot, And each licentious eye." With wild surprise, As if to marble struck, devoid of sense, A stupid moment motionless she stood :
So stands the statue that enchants the world, So bending tries to veil the matchless boast, The mingled beauties of exulting Greece. Recovering, swift she flew to find those robes Which blissful Eden knew not; and, array'd In careless haste, th' alarming paper snatch'd. But, when her Damon's well-known hand she saw, Her terrours vanish'd, and a softer train Of mixt emotions, hard to be describ'd, Her sudden bosom seiz'd: shame void of guilt, The charming blush of innocence, esteem And admiration of her lover's flame, By modesty exalted: even a sense Of self-approving beauty stole across Her busy thought. At length, a tender calm Hush'd by degrees the tumult of her soul; And on the spreading beech, that o'er the stream Incumbent hung, she with the sylvan pen Of rural lovers this confession carv'd, Which soon her Damon kiss'd with weeping joy: "Dear youth! sole judge of what these verses mean, By fortune too much favour'd, but by love, Alas! not favour'd less, be still as now Discreet: the time may come you need not fly." The Sun has lost his rage: his downward orb Shoots nothing now but animating warmth, And vital lustre; that with various ray [Heaven, Lights up the clouds, those beauteous robes of Incessant roll'd into romantic shapes, The dream of waking fancy! Broad below, Cover'd with ripening fruits, and swelling fast Into the perfect year, the pregnant Earth And all her tribes rejoice. Now the soft hour Of walking comes: for him who lonely loves To seek the distant hills, and there converse With Nature; there to harmonize his heart, And in pathetic song to breathe around The harmony to others. Social friends, Attun'd to happy unison of soul; To whose exalting eye a fairer world,
Of which the vulgar never had a glimpse, [fraught Displays its charms; whose minds are richly With philosophic stores, superior light;
And in whose breast, enthusiastic, burns Virtue, the sons of interest deem romance; Now call'd abroad enjoy the falling day: Now to the verdant Portico of woods, To Nature's vast Lycéum, forth they walk; By that kind school where no proud master reigns, The full free converse of the friendly heart, Improving and improv'd. Now from the world, Sacred to sweet retirement, lovers steal,
And pour their souls in transport which the Sire Of love approving hears, and calls it good. Which way, Amanda, shall we bend our course? The choice perplexes. Wherefore should we chuse? All is the same with thee. Say, shall we wind Along the streams? or walk the smiling mead? Or, court the forest-glades? or wander wild Among the waving harvests? or ascend, While radiant Summer opens all its pride, Thy hill, delightful Shene +? Here let us sweep The boundless landscape: now the raptur'd eye, Exulting swift, to huge Augusta send, Now to the sister-hills that skirt her plain, To lofty Harrow now, and now to where Majestic Windsor lifts his princely brow. In lovely contrast to this glorious view Calmly magnificent, then will we turn To where the silver Thames first rural grows. There let the feasted eye unwearied stray; Luxurious, there, rove through the pendant woods That nodding hang o'er Harrington's retreat; And stooping thence to Ham's embowering walks, Beneath whose shades, in spotless peace retir'd, With her the pleasing partner of his heart, The worthy Queensbury yet laments his Gay, And polish'd Cornbury wooes the willing Muse. Slow let us trace the matchless vale of Thames: Fair winding up to where the Muses haunt In Twit'nam's bowers, and for their Pope implore The healing god §; to royal Hampton's pile, To Clermont's terrac'd height, and Esher's groves, Where, in the sweetest solitude, embrac'd By the soft windings of the silent Mole, From courts and senates Pelham finds repose: Inchanting vale! beyond whate'er the Muse Has of Achaia or Hesperia sung! O vale of bliss! O softly-swelling hills! On which the Power of Cultivation lies, And joys to see the wonders of his toil.
Heavens! what a goodly prospect spreads around, Of hills, and dales, and woods, and lawns, and spires, And glittering towns, and gilded streams, till all The stretching landscape into smoke decays! Happy Britannia! where the queen of arts, Inspiring vigour, liberty abroad Walks, unconfin'd, ev'n to thy farthest cots, And scatters plenty with unsparing hand.
Rich is thy soil, and merciful thy clime; Thy streams unfailing in the summer's drought; Unmatch'd thy guardian oaks; thy valleys float With golden waves: and on thy mountains flocks Bleat numberless; while, roving round their sides, Bellow the blackening herds in lusty droves. Beneath thy meadows glow, and rise unquell'd Against the mower's scythe. On every hand Thy villas shine. Thy country teems with wealth;
The old name of Richmond, signifying in Saxon shining or splendour.
Highgate and Hampstead. § In his last sickness.
And property assures it to the swain, Pleas'd, and unwearied, in his guarded toil. Full are thy cities with the sons of art; And trade and joy, in every busy street, Mingling are heard: ev'n Drudgery himself, As at the car he sweats, or dusty hews
The palace-stone, looks gay. Thy crowded ports, Where rising masts an endless prospect yield, With labour burn, and echo to the shouts Of hurried sailor, as he hearty waves His last adieu, and, loosening every sheet, Resigns the spreading vessel to the wind.
Bold, firm, and graceful, are thy generous youth, By hardship sinew'd, and by danger fir'd, Scattering the nations where they go; and first Or on the listed plain, or stormy seas. Mild are thy glories too, as o'er the plans Of thriving peace thy thoughtful sires preside; In genius, and substantial learning, high; For every virtue, every worth renown'd; Sincere, plain-hearted, hospitable, kind; Yet, like the mustering thunder, when provok'd, The dread of tyrants, and the sole resource Of those that under grim oppression groan. Thy sons of glory many! Alfred thine, In whom the splendour of heroic war, And more heroic peace, when govern'd well, Combine; whose hallow'd names the virtuous saint, And his own Muses love; the best of kings! With him thy Edwards and thy Henries shine, Names dear to fame; the first who deep impress'd On haughty Gaul the terrour of thy arms, That awes her genius still. In statesmen thou, And patriots, fertile. Thine a steady More, Who, with a generous, though mistaken zeal, Withstood a brutal tyrant's useful rage, Like Cato firm, like Aristides just, Like rigid Cincinnatus nobly poor, A dauntless soul erect, who smil'd on death. Frugal and wise, a Walsingham is thine; A Drake, who made thee mistress of the deep, And bore thy name in thunder round the world. Then flam'd thy spirit high: but who can speak The numerous worthies of the maiden reign? In Raleigh mark their every glory mix'd; Raleigh, the scourge of Spain! whose breast with all The sage, the patriot, and the hero, burn'd. Nor sunk his vigour, when a coward-reign The warrior fetter'd, and at last resign'd, To glut the vengeance of a vanquish'd foe. Then, active still and unrestrain'd, his mind Explor'd the vast extent of ages past, And with his prison-hours enrich'd the world; Yet found no times, in all the long research, So glorious, or so base, as those he prov'd, In which he conquer'd, and in which he bled. Nor can the Muse the gallant Sidney pass, The plume of war! with early laurels crown'd, The lover's myrtle, and the poet's bay. A Hampden too is thine, illustrious land, Wise, strenuous, firm, of unsubmitting soul, Who stemm'd the torrent of a downward age To slavery prone, and bade thee rise again, In all thy native pomp of freedom bold. Bright at his call, thy age of men effulg'd, Of men on whom late time a kindling eye Shall turn, and tyrants tremble while they read. Bring every sweetest flower, and let me strew The grave where Russell lies; whose temper'd blood, With calmest cheerfulness for thee resign'd,
Stain'd the sad annals of a giddy reign; Aiming at lawless power, though meanly sunk In loose inglorious luxury. With him His friend, the British Cassius*, fearless bled; Of high-determin'd spirit, roughly brave, By ancient learning, to th' enlighten'd love Of ancient freedom warm'd. Fair thy renown
In aweful sages and in noble bards, Soon as the light of dawning Science spread Her orient ray, and wak'd the Muses' song. Thine is a Bacon; hapless in his choice, Unfit to stand the civil storm of state, And through the smooth barbarity of courts, With firm, but pliant virtue, forward still To urge his course; him for the studious shade Kind Nature form'd, deep, comprehensive, clear, Exact, and elegant; in one rich soul, Plato, the Stagyrite, and Tully join'd. The great deliverer he! who from the gloom Of cloister'd monks, and jargon-teaching schools, Led forth the true Philosophy, there long Held in the magic chain of words and forms, And definitions void: he led her forth, Daughter of Heaven' that, slow-ascending still, Investigating sure the chain of things, With radiant finger points to Heaven again. The generous Ashley + thine, the friend of man ; Who scann'd his nature with a brother's eye, His weakness prompt to shade to raise his aim, To touch the finer movements of the mind, And with the moral beauty charm the heart. Why need I name thy Boyle, whose pious search Amid the dark recesses of his works, The great Creator sought? And why thy Locke, Who made the whole internal world his own? Let Newton, pure Intelligence, whom God To mortals lent, to trace his boundless works From laws sublimely simple, speak thy fame In all philosophy. For lofty sense, Creative fancy, and inspection keen Through the deep windings of the human heart, Is not wild Shakspeare thine and Nature's boast? Is not each great, each amiable Muse Of classic ages in thy Milton met? A genius universal as his theme; Astonishing as Chaos, as the bloom Of blowing Eden fair, as Heaven sublime. Nor shall my verse that elder bard forget, The gentle Spenser, Fancy's pleasing son; Who, like a copious river, pour'd his song O'er all the mazes of enchanted ground : Nor thee, his ancient master, laughing sage, Chaucer, whose native manners-painting verse, Well-moraliz'd, shines through the gothic cloud Of time and language o'er thy genius thrown. May my song soften, as thy daughters I, Britannia, hail! for beauty is their own, The feeling heart, simplicity of life, And elegance, and taste: the faultless form, Shap'd by the hand of harmony; the cheek, Where the live crimson, through the native white Soft-shooting, o'er the face diffuses bloom, And every nameless grace; the parted lip, Like the red rose-bud moist with morning-dew, Breathing delight; and, under flowing jet, Or sunny ringlets, or of circling brown, The neck slight-shaded, and the swelling breast;
† Anthony Ashley Cooper, Earl of Shaftesbury.
The look resistless, piercing to the soul, And by the soul inform'd, when drest in love She sits high-smiling in the conscious eye.
Island of bliss! amid the subject seas, That thunder round thy rocky coasts, set up, At once the wonder, terrour, and delight, Of distant nations; whose remotest shores Can soon be shaken by thy naval arm; Not to be shook thyself, but all assaults Baffling, as thy hoar cliffs the loud sea-wave.
O Thou! by whose almighty nod the scale Of Empire rises, or alternate falls,
Send forth the saving Virtues round the land, In bright patrol: white Peace, and social Love; The tender-looking Charity, intent
Her lowest sons, and clothe the coming year, From field to field the feather'd seeds she wings.
His folded flock secure, the shepherd home Hies, merry-hearted; and by turns relieves The ruddy milk-maid of her brimming pail; The beauty whom perhaps his witless heart, Unknowing what the joy-mixt anguish means, Sincerely loves, by that best language shown Of cordial glances, and obliging deeds. Onward they pass, o'er many a panting height And valley sunk, and unfrequented; where At fall of eve the Fairy people throng, In various game, and revelry, to pass The summer night, as village-stories tell. But far about they wander from the grave
On gentle deeds, and shedding tears through smiles; Of him, whom his ungentle fortune urg'd Undaunted Truth, and dignity of mind; Courage compos'd, and keen; sound Temperance, Healthful in heart and look; clear Chastity, With blushes reddening as she moves along, Disorder'd at the deep regard she draws; Rough Industry; Activity untir'd, With copious life inform'd, and all awake: While in the radiant front superior shines That first paternal virtue, public zeal; Who throws o'er all an equal wide survey, And, ever musing on the common weal, Still labours glorious with some great design. Low walks the Sun, and broadens by degrees, Just o'er the verge of day. The shifting clouds Assembled gay, a richly-gorgeous train, In all their pomp attend his setting throne. Air, Earth, and Ocean smile immense. As if his weary chariot sought the bowers Of Amphitritè, and her tending nymphs, (So Grecian fable sung,) he dips his orb; Now half-immers'd; and now a golden curve Gives one bright glance, then total disappears. For ever running an enchanted round, Passes the day, deceitful, vain, and void; As fleets the vision o'er the formful brain, This moment hurrying wild the impassion'd soul, The next in nothing lost. 'Tis so to him, The dreamer of this Earth, an idle blank : A sight of horrour to the cruel wretch, Who, all day long in sordid pleasure roll'd, Himself an useless load, has squander'd vile, Upon his scoundrel train, what might have cheer'd A drooping family of modest worth. But to the generous still-improving mind, That gives the hopeless heart to sing for joy, Diffusing kind beneficence around, Boastless, as now descends the silent dew; To him the long review of order'd life
Against his own sad breast to lift the hand Of impious violence. The lonely tower Is also shunn'd; whose mournful chambers hold, So night-struck fancy dreams, the yelling ghost. Among the crooked lanes, on every hedge, The glow-worm lights his gem; and through the dark,
A moving radiance twinkles. Evening yields The world to Night; not in her winter-robe Of massy Stygian woof, but loose array'd In mantle dun. A faint erroneous ray, Glanc'd from th' imperfect surfaces of things, Flings half an image on the straining eye: While wavering woods, and villages, and streams, And rocks, and mountain-tops, that long retain'd Th' ascending gleam, are all one swimming scene, And now, Uncertain if beheld. Sudden to Heaven
Is inward rapture, only to be felt.
Thence weary vision turns; where, leading soft The silent hours of love, with purest ray Sweet Venus shines; and from her genial rise, When day-light sickens till it springs afresh, Unrivall'd reigns, the fairest lamp of night. As thus th' effulgence tremulous I drink, With cherish'd gaze, the lambent lightnings shoot Across the sky; or horizontal dart
In wondrous shapes: by fearful murmuring crowds Portentous deem'd. Amid the radiant orbs, That more than deck, that animate the sky, The life-infusing suns of other worlds; Lo! from the dread immensity of space Returning with accelerated course, The rushing comet to the Sun descends ; And as he sinks below the shading Earth, With aweful train projected o'er the Heavens, The guilty nations tremble. But, above Those superstitious horrours that enslave The fond sequacious herd, to mystic faith And blind amazement prone, the enlighten'd few, Whose godlike minds philosophy exalts,
Confess'd from yonder slow-extinguish'd clouds, The glorious stranger hail. They feel a joy
All ether softening, sober Evening takes Her wonted station in the middle air; A thousand shadows at her beck. First this She sends on Earth; then that of deeper dye Steals soft behind; and then a deeper still, In circle following circle, gathers round, To close the face of things. A fresher gale Begins to wave the wood, and stir the stream, Sweeping with shadowy gust the fields of corn; While the quail clamours for his running mate. Wide o'er the thistly lawn, as swells the breeze, A whitening shower of vegetable down Amusive floats. The kind impartial care Of Nature nought disdains: thoughtful to feed
Divinely great; they in their powers exult, That wondrous force of thought, which mounting
This dusky spot, and measures all the sky; While, from his far excursion through the wilds Of barren ether, faithful to his time, They see the blazing wonder rise anew, In seeming terrour clad, but kindly bent To work the will of all-sustaining Love: From his huge vapoury train perhaps to shake Reviving moisture on the numerous orbs, Through which his long ellipsis winds; perhaps To lend new fuel to declining suns,
To light up worlds, and feed th' eternal fire.
With thee, serene Philosophy, with thee, And thy bright garland, let me crown my song! Effusive source of evidence, and truth! A lustre shedding o'er th' ennobled mind, Stronger than summer-noon; and pure as that, Whose mild vibrations soothe the parted soul, New to the dawning of celestial day. Hence through her nourish'd powers, enlarg'd by She springs aloft, with elevated pride, Above the tangling mass of low desires, That bind the fluttering crowd: and, angel-wing'd, The heights of science and of virtue gains, Where all is calm and clear; with Nature round, Or in the starry regions, or th' abyss, To Reason's and to Fancy's eye display'd: The first up-tracing, from the dreary void, The chain of causes and effects to Him, The world-producing Essence, who alone Possesses being; while the last receives
The whole magnificence of Heaven and Earth, And every beauty, delicate or bold,
Obvious or more remote, with livelier sense, Diffusive painted on the rapid mind.
Tutor'd by thee, hence Poetry exalts Her voice to ages; and informs the page With music, image, sentiment, and thought, Never to die! the treasure of mankind! Their highest honour, and their truest joy!
Without thee, what were unenlighten'd man? A savage roaming through the woods and wilds, In quest of prey; and with th' unfashion'd fur Rough-clad; devoid of every finer art, And elegance of life. Nor happiness Domestic, mix'd of tenderness and care, Nor moral excellence, nor social bliss, Nor guardian law were his; nor various skill To turn the furrow, or to guide the tool Mechanic; nor the heaven-conducted prow Of navigation bold, that fearless braves The burning Line, or dares the wintery Pole; Mother severe of infinite delights! Nothing, save rapine, indolence, and guile, And woes on woes, a still-revolving train! Whose horrid circle had made human life Than non-existence worse: but, taught by thee, Ours are the plans of policy and peace; To live like brothers, and conjunctive all Embellish life. While thus laborious crowds Ply the tough oar, Philosophy directs The ruling helm; or like the liberal breath Of potent Heaven, invisible, the sail Swells out, and bears th' inferior world along. Nor to this evanescent speck of Earth Poorly confin'd, the radiant tracts on high Are her exalted range; intent to gaze Creation through; and, from that full complex Of never-ending wonders, to conceive
Of the Sole Being right, who spoke the word, And Nature mov'd complete. With inward view, Thence on th' ideal kingdom swift she turns Her eye; and instant, at her powerful glance, Th' obedient phantoms vanish or appear; Compound, divide, and into order shift, Each to his rank, from plain perception up To the fair forms of Fancy's fleeting train: To reason then, deducing truth from truth; And notion quite abstract; where first begins The world of spirits, action all, and life Unfetter'd, and unmixt. But here the cloud, So wills Eternal Providence, sits deep.
Enough for us to know that this dark state, In wayward passions lost, and vain pursuits, This infancy of Being, cannot prove The final issue of the works of God, By boundless love and perfect wisdom form'd, And ever rising with the rising mind.
The subject proposed. A prospect of the fields ready for harvest. flections in praise of industry raised by that view. Reaping. A tale relative to it. A harvest-storm. Shooting and hunting, their barbarity. dicrous account of fox-hunting. orchard. Wall-fruit. A vineyard. A description of fogs, frequent in the latter part of Autumn: whence a digression, enquiring into the rise of fountains and rivers. Birds of season considered, that now shift their habitation. The prodigious
number of them that cover the northern and western isles of Scotland. Hence a view of the country. A prospect of the discoloured, fading woods. After a gentle dusky day, moon-light. Autumnal meteors. Morning: to which succeeds a calm, pure, sun-shiny day, such as usually shuts up the season. The harvest being gathered in, the country dissolved in joy. The whole concludes with a panegyric on a philosophical country life.
CROWN'D with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf, While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain, Comes jovial on; the Doric reed once more, Well pleas'd, I tune. Whate'er the Wintery frost Nitrous prepar'd; the various-blossom'd Spring Put in white promise forth; and Summer suns Concocted strong, rush boundless now to view, Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme.
Onslow the Muse, ambitious of thy name, To grace, inspire, and dignify her song, Would from the public voice thy gentle ear Awhile engage. Thy noble care she knows, The patriot virtues that distend thy thought, Spread on thy front, and in thy bosom glow; While listening senates hang upon thy tongue Devolving through the maze of eloquence A roll of periods sweeter than her song. But she too pants for public virtue; she, Though weak of power, yet strong in ardent will, Whene'er her country rushes on her heart, Assumes a bolder note, and fondly tries
To mix the patriot's with the poet's flame.
When the bright Virgin gives the beauteous days, And Libra weighs in equal scales the year; From Heaven's high cope the fierce effulgence shook
Of parting Summer, a serener blue, With golden light enliven'd, wide invests The happy world. Attemper'd suns arise, Sweet-beam'd, and shedding oft through lucid
A pleasing calm; while broad, and brown, below, Extensive harvests hang the heavy head. Rich, silent, deep, they stand; for not a gale Rolls its light billows c'er the bending plain : A calm of plenty! till the ruffled air
Falls from its poise, and gives the breeze to blow. Rent is the fleecy mantle of the sky; The clouds fly different; and the sudden Sun By fits effulgent gilds th' illumin'd field, And black by fits the shadows sweep along. A gaily-chequer'd heart-expanding view, Far as the circling eye can shoot around, Unbounded tossing in a flood of corn.
These are thy blessings, Industry! rough power; Whom labour still attends, and sweat, and pain : Yet the kind source of every gentle art, And all the soft civility of life: Raiser of human-kind! by Nature cast, Naked, and helpless, out amid the woods And wilds, to rude inclement elements; With various seeds of art deep in the mind Implanted, and profusely pour'd around Materials infinite; but idle all.
Still unexerted, in th' unconscious breast, Slept the lethargic powers; corruption still, Voracious, swallow'd what the liberal hand Of bounty scatter'd o'er the savage year : And still the sad barbarian, roving, mix'd With beasts of prey; or for his acorn-meal Fought the fierce tusky boar; a shivering wretch! Aghast, and comfortless, when the bleak north, With Winter charg'd, let the mix'd tempest fly Hail, rain, and snow, and bitter-breathing frost : Then to the shelter of the hut he fled; And the wild season, sordid, pin'd away. For home he had not; home is the resort Of love, of joy, of peace and plenty, where, Supported and supporting, polish'd friends, And dear relations, mingle into bliss. But this the rugged savage never felt, Ev'n desolate in crowds; and thus his days Roll'd heavy, dark, and unenjoy'd along : A waste of time: till Industry approach'd, And rous'd him from his miserable sloth: His faculties unfolded; pointed out Where lavish Nature the directing hand Of Art demanded; show'd him how to raise His feeble force by the mechanic powers, To dig the mineral from the vaulted Earth, On what to turn the piercing rage of fire, On what the torrent, and the gather'd blast; Gave the tall ancient forest to his axe; Taught him to chip the wood, and hew the stone, Till by degrees the finish'd fabric rose; Tore from his limbs the blood-polluted fur, And wrapt them in the woolly vestment warm, Or bright in glossy silk, and flowing lawn ; With wholesome viands fili'd his table, pour'd The generous glass around, inspir'd to wake The life-refining soul of decent wit: Nor stopp'd at barren bare necessity; But, still advancing bolder, led him on To pomp, to pleasure, elegance, and grace; And, breathing high ambition through his soul, Set science, wisdom, glory, in his view, And bade him be the Lord of all below. Then gathering men their natural powers combin'd, And form'd a public; to the general good Submitting, aiming, and conducting all. For this the patriot-council met, the full, The free, and fairly represented whole; For this they plann'd the holy guardian laws, Distinguish'd orders, animated arts, And, with joint force Oppression chaining, set Imperial Justice at the helm; yet still
To them accountable; nor slavish dream'd That toiling millions must resign their weal, And all the honey of their search, to such As for themselves alone themselves have rais'd. Hence every form of cultivated life In order set, protected, and inspir'd, Into perfection wrought. Uniting all, Society grew numerous, high, polite, And happy. Nurse of art! the city rear'd In beauteous pride her tower-encircled head; And, stretching street on street, by thousands drew, From twining woody haunts, or the tough yew To bows strong-straining, her aspiring sons.
Then Commerce brought into the public walk The busy merchant; the big warehouse built; Rais'd the strong crane; choak'd up the loaded
With foreign plenty; and thy stream, O Thames, Large, gentle, deep, majestic, king of floods! Chose for his grand resort. On either hand, Like a long wintery forest, groves of masts Shot up their spires; the bellying sheet between Possess'd the breezy void; the sooty hulk Steer'd sluggish on; the splendid barge along Row'd, regular, to harmony; around,
The boat, light skimming, stretch'd its oary wings; While deep the various voice of fervent toil Loak From bank to bank increas'd; whence ribb'd with To bear the British thunder, black, and bold, The roaring vessel rush'd into the main.
Then too the pillar'd dome, magnific, heav'd Its ample roof; and Luxury within
Pour'd out her glittering stores; the canvass smooth, With glowing life protuberant, to the view Embodied rose; the statue seem'd to breathe, And soften into flesh, beneath the touch Of forming art, imagination-flush'd.
All is the gift of Industry; whate'er Exalts, embellishes, and renders life Delightful. Pensive Winter cheer'd by him Sits at the social fire, and happy hears Th' excluded tempest idly rave along; His harden'd fingers deck the gaudy Spring; Without him Summer were an arid waste; Nor to th' Autumnal months could thus transmit Those full, mature, immeasureable stores, That, waving round, recall my wandering song,
Soon as the morning trembles o'er the sky, And, unperceiv'd, unfolds the spreading day; Before the ripen'd field the reapers stand, In fair array; each by the lass he loves, To bear the rougher part, and mitigate By nameless gentle offices her toil.
At once they stoop and swell the lusty sheaves; While through their cheerful band the rural talk, The rural scandal, and the rural jest, Fly harmless, to deceive the tedious time, And steal unfelt the sultry hours away. Behind the master walks, builds up the shocks; And, conscious, glancing oft on every side His sated eye, feels his heart heave with joy. The gleaners spread around, and here and there, Spike after spike, their scanty harvest pick. Be not too narrow, husbandmen; but fling From the full sheaf, with charitable stealth, The liberal handful. Think, oh, grateful think! How good the God of Harvest is to you; Who pours abundance o'er your flowing fields; While these unhappy partners of your kind Wide-hover round you like the fowls of Heaven,
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