a 1 Hi IB8SB18 Hi iffi ■ Hi HH mm HI m HH HI JlnRi lim WW mm H^HHH ! H v*.< m i 11 > )**" HUH H^^H HHBI m MI h niHi ■ Hi nffl H unffl HI HH HIHHffl HI Km in Ml BE BB \fm H H H 111 m Mil ■IHH i THOMS ON Fu&tis/uid ty Pernor & KoocL^PoiUtrj 1802. THE ■JAME S.THOM S ON^ WITH at si -raw (o///A6rfr c f 9Z£Z€dCs €Ztfl0 e- i **S*issf£ • Swr IcBoodXx&y- THE SEASONS, BY S T HIS LIFE, BY MR. MURDOCH, AN ESSAY ON THE PLAN AND MANNER OF THE POEM, BY J. AIKEN, M. D. AND A COMPLETE GLOSSARY AND INDEX. EMBELLISHED WITH ENGRAVINGS. LONDON: PRINTED BY C. WHITT1NGIIAM, Dean Street, Fetter Lane, FOR G. AND J. ROBINSON; R. BALDWIN; F. AND C. RIVINGTON; W. J. AND J RICHARDSON; VERNOR AND HOOD ; T.PAYNE; W.LOWNDES; G.WILKTE; OGILVY AND SON; J.SCATCHERD; J.WALKER; CLAW; J.NUNN LONGMAN AND REES . CADELL AND DAVIS; CARPENTER AND CO.; T. HURST; BLACK AND PARRY; AND' R. CROSBY. 1802. m%. CONTENTS. Life of the Author . v Aiken's Essay xxxvii Spring 1 Summer 51 Autumn 127 Winter 185 Hymn 233 Index and Glossary 237 AN LIFE AND WRITINGS MR. J. THOMSON. IT is commonly said, that the life of a good writer is best read in his works; which can scarce fail to receive a peculiar tincture from his tem- per, manners, and habits; the distinguishing cha- racter of his mind, his ruling passion, at least, will there appear undisguised. But however just this observation may be, and although we might safely rest Mr. Thomson's fame, as a good man, as well as a man of genius, on this sole footing; yet the desire which the Public always shew of being more particularly acquainted with the his- tory of an eminent author, ought not to be disap- b THE LIFE OF pointed; as it proceeds not from mere curiosity, but chiefly from affection and gratitude to those by whom they have been entertained and in- structed. To give some account of a deceased friend is often a piece of justice likewise, which ought not to be refused to his memory; to prevent or efface the impertinent fictions which officious Biographers are so apt to collect and propagate. And we may add, that the circumstances of an author's life will sometimes throw the best light upon his writings; instances whereof we shall meet with in the following pages. Mr. Thomson was born at Ednam, in the shire of Roxburgh, on the 11th of September, in the year 1700. His father, minister of that place, was but little known beyond the narrow circle of his co-presbyters, and to a few gentlemen in the neighbourhood; but highly respected by them, for his piety, and his diligence in the pastoral duty : as appeared afterwards, in their kind offices to his widow and orphan family. The Reverend Messrs. Riccarton and Gusthart, particularly, took a most affectionate and friendly MR. JAMES THOMSON. part in all their concerns. The former, a man of uncommon penetration and good taste, had very early discovered, through the rudeness of young Thomson's puerile essays, a fund of genius well deserving culture and encouragement. He undertook, therefore, with the father's approba- tion, the chief direction of his studies, furnished him with the proper books, corrected his per- formances; and was daily rewarded with the pleasure of seeing his labour so happily em- ployed. The other reverend gentleman, Mr. Gusthart, who is still living*, one of the ministers of Edin- burgh, and senior of the Chapel Royal, was no less serviceable to Mrs. Thomson in the manage- ment of her little affairs; which, after the decease of her husband, burdened as she was with a fa- mily of nine children, required the prudent counsels and assistance of that faithful and gene- rous friend. Sir William Bennet likewise, well known for his gay humour and ready poetical wit, was highly delighted with our young poet, and used * 1762. viii THE LIFE OF to invite him to pass the summer vacation at his country seat: a scene of life which Mr. Thomson always remembered with particular pleasure. But what he wrote during that time, either to entertain Sir William and Mr. Riccarton, or for his own amusement, he destroyed every new year's day ; committing his little pieces to the flames, ifi their due order; and crowning the solemnity with a copy of verses, in which were humorously recited the several grounds of their condemnation. After the usual course of school education, un- der an able master at Jedburgh, Mr. Thomson was sent to the University of Edinburgh. But in the second year of his admission, his studies were for some time interrupted by the death of his father; who was carried off so suddenly, that it was not possible for Mr. Thomson, with all the diligence he could use, to receive his last blessing. This affected him to an uncommon degree; and his relations still remember some extraordinary instances of his grief and filial duty on that oc- casion, Mrs. Thomson, whose maiden name was Hume, and who was co-heiress of a small estate in the country, did not sink under this misfortune. She MR. JAMES THOMSON. ix consulted her friend Mr. Gusthart: and having, by his advice, mortgaged her moiety of the farm, repaired with her family to Edinburgh; where she lived in a decent, frugal manner, till her fa- vourite son had not only finished his academical course, but was even distinguished and patronised as a man of genius. She was, herself, a person of uncommon natural endowments; possessed of every social and domestic virtue; with an imagi- nation, for vivacity and warmth, scarce inferior to her son's, and which raised her devotional ex- ercises to a pitch bordering on enthusiasm. But whatever advantage Mr. Thomson might derive from the complexion of his parent, it is certain he owed much to a religious education ; and that his early acquaintance with the sacred writings, contributed greatly to that sublime, by which his works will be for ever distinguished. In his first pieces, the Seasons, we see him at once assume the majestic freedom of an Eastern writer; seizing the grand images as they rise, clothing them in his own expressive language, and pre- serving, throughout, the grace, the variety, and the dignity, which belong to a just composition ; unhurt by the stiffness of formal method. THE LIFE OF About this time, the study of poetry was be- come general in Scotland, the best English authors being universally read, and imitations of them at- tempted. Addison had lately displayed the beau- ties of Milton's immortal work; and his remarks on it, together with Mr. Pope's celebrated Essay, had opened the way to an acquaintance with the best poets and critics. But the most learned critic is not always the best judge of poetry; taste being a gift of nature, the want of which, Aristotle and Bossu cannot supply; nor even the study of the best originals, when the reader's faculties are not tuned in a cer- tain consonance to those of the poet : and this happened to be the case with certain learned gentlemen, into whose hands a few of Mr. Thom- son's first essays had fallen. Some inaccuracies of style, and those luxuriances which a young writer can hardly avoid, lay open to their cavils and censure; so far indeed they might be com- petent judges: but the fire and enthusiasm of the poet had entirely escaped their notice. Mr, Thomson, however, conscious of his own strength, was not discouraged by this treatment; especially as he had some friends on whose judgment he MR. JAMES THOMSON. xi could better rely, and who thought very differ- ently of his performances. Only, from that time, he began to turn his views towards London; where works of genius may always expect a can- did reception and due encouragement; and an accident soon after entirely determined him to try his fortune there. The divinity chair at Edinburgh was then filled by the reverend and learned Mr. Hamilton; a gentleman universally respected and beloved; and who had particularly endeared himself to the young divines under his care, by his kind offices, his candour and affability. Our author had at- tended his lectures for about a year, when there was prescribed to him, for the subject of an exer- cise, a psalm, in which the power and majesty of God are celebrated. Of this psalm he gave a pa- raphrase and illustration, as the nature of the ex- ercise required; but in a style so highly poetical as surprised the whole audience. Mr. Hamilton, as his custom was, complimented the orator upon his performance, and pointed out to the students the most masterly striking parts of it; but at last, turning to Mr. Thomson, he told him, smiling, that if he thought of being useful in the ministry, he must keep a stricter rein upon his imagination, xii THE LIFE OF and express himself in language more intelligible to an ordinary congregation. This gave Mr. Thomson to understand, that his expectations from the study of theology might be very precarious; even though the Church had been more his free choice than probably it was. So that having, soon after, received some encou- ragement from a lady of quality, a friend of his mother's, then in London, he quickly prepared himself for his journey. And although this en- couragement ended in nothing beneficial, it serv- ed for the present as a good pretext, to cover the imprudence of committing himself to the wide world, unfriended and unpatronised, and with the slender stock of money he was then possessed of. But his merit did not long lie concealed. Mr. Forbes, afterwards Lord President of the Ses- sion, then attending the service of Parliament, having seen a specimen of Mr. Thomson's poetry in Scotland, received him very kindly, and re- commended him to some of his iends ; particu- larly to Mr. Aikman, who lived in great intimacy with many persons of distinguished rank and worth. This gentleman, from a connoisseur in painting, was become a professed painter; and MR. JAMES THOMSON. his taste being no less just and delicate in the kindred art of descriptive poetry, than in his own, no wonder that he soon conceived a friendship for our author. What warm return he met with, and how Mr. Thomson was affected by his friend's premature death, appears in the copy of verses which he wrote on that occasion. In the mean time, our author's reception, wherever he was introduced, emboldened him to risque the publication of his Winter : in which, as himself was a mere novice in such matters, he was kindly assisted by Mr. Mallet, then private tutor to his Grace the Duke of Montrose, and his brother the Lord George Graham, so well known afterwards as an able and gallant sea-officer. To Mr. Mallet he likewise owed his first acquaint- ance with several of the wits of that time; an exact information of their characters, personal and poetical, and how they stood affected to each other. The poem of Winter, published in March 1726% was no sooner read than universally ad- mired; those only excepted who had not been used to feel, or to look for, any thing in poetry, beyond a point of satirical or epigrammatic wit, THE LIFE OF a smart antithesis richly trimmed with rhyme, or the softness of an elegiac complaint. To such his manly classical spirit could not readily recom- mend itself; till, after a more attentive perusal, they had got the better of their prejudices, and either acquired or affected a truer taste. A few others stood aloof, merely because they had long before fixed the articles of their poetical creed, and resigned themselves to an absolute despair of ever seeing any thing new and original. These were somewhat mortified to find their notions disturbed by the appearance of a poet, who seem- ed to owe nothing but to nature and his own ge- nius. But, in a short time, the applause became unanimous; every one wondering how so many pictures, and pictures so familiar, should have moved them but faintly to what they felt in his descriptions. His digressions too, the overflow- ings of a tender, benevolent heart, charmed the reader no less; leaving him in doubt, whether he should more admire the Poet, or love the Man. " From that time, Mr. Thomson's acquaintance was courted by all men of taste; and several ladies of high rank and distinction became his declared patronesses: the Countess of Hertford, Miss Dre- lincourt, afterwards Viscountess Primrose, Mrs. MR. JAMES THOMSON. Stanley, and others. But the chief happiness which his Winter procured him was, that it brought him acquainted with Dr. Rundle, after- wards Lord Bishop of Deny; who, upon convers- ing with Mr. Thomson, and finding in him qua- lities greater still, and of more value, than those of a poet, received him into his intimate confi- dence and friendship; promoted his character every where; introduced him to his great friend the Lord Chancellor Talbot; and, some years after, when the eldest son of that nobleman was to make his tour of travelling, recommended Mr. Thomson as a proper companion for him. His affection and gratitude to Dr. Rundle, and his in- dignation at the treatment that worthy prelate had met with, are finely expressed in his poem to the memory of Lord Talbot. The true cause of that undeserved treatment has been secreted from the Public, as well as the dark manoeuvres that were employed : but Mr. Thomson, who had access to the best information, places it to the account of Slanderous zeal, and politics infirm, Jealous of worth. - Meanwhile our poet's chief care had been, in return for the public favour, to finish the plan which their wishes laid out for him ; and the ex- THE LIFE OF pectations which his Winter had raised, were fully satisfied by the successive publication of the other Seasons: of Summer in the year 1727; of Spring, in the beginning of the following year ; and of Autumn, in a quarto edition of his works, printed in 1730. In that edition, the Seasons are placed in their natural order: and crowned with that inimitable Hymn, in which we view them in their beautiful succession, as one whole, the immediate effect of infinite Power and Goodness. In imitation of the Hebrew Bard, all nature is called forth to do homage to the Creator, and the reader is left en- raptured in silent adoration and praise. Besides these, and his tragedy of Sophonisba, written and acted with applause, in the year 1729, Mr. Thomson had, in 1727, published his poem to the Memory of Sir Isaac Newton, then lately deceased; containing a deserved encomium of that incomparable man, with an account of his chiefdiscoveries; sublimely poetical; and yet so just, that an ingenious foreigner, the Count Alga- rotti, takes a line of it for the text of his philoso- phical dialogues, II Neutonianismo per le dame: this was in part owing to the assistance he had of MR. JAMES THOMSON. xvii his friend Mr. Gray, a gentleman well versed in the Newtonian Philosophy, who, on that occasion, gave him a very exact, though general, abstract of its principles. That same year, the resentment of our mer- chants, for the interruption of their trade by the Spaniards in America, running very high, Mr. Thomson zealously took part in it; and wrote his poem Britannia, to rouse the nation to revenge. And although this piece is the less read that its subject was but accidental and temporary, the spirited generous sentiments that enrich it, can never be out of season : they will at least remain a monument of that love of his country, that de- votion to the Public, which he is ever inculcating as the perfection of virtue, and which none ever felt more pure, or more intense, than himself. Our author's poetical studies were now to be interrupted, or rather improved, by his attendance on the Honourable Mr. Charles Talbot in his tra- vels. A delightful task indeed ! endowed as that young nobleman was by nature, and accomplish- ed by the care and example of the best of fathers, in whatever could adorn humanity: graceful of xviii THE LIFE OF person, elegant in manners and address, pious, humane, generous; with an exquisite taste in all the finer arts. With this amiable companion and friend, Mr. Thomson visited most of the courts and capital cities of Europe; and returned with his views greatly enlarged ; not of exterior nature only, and the works of art, but of human life and manners, of the constitution and policy of the several states, their connexions, and their religious institutions. How particular and judicious his observations were, we see in his poem of Liberty, begun soon after his return to England. We see, at the same time, to what a high pitch his love of his country was raised, by the comparisons he had all along been making of our happy well-poised govern- ment with those of other nations. To inspire his fellow-subjects with the like sentiments, and to shew them by what means the precious freedom we enjoy may be preserved, and how it may be abused or lost, he employed two years of his life in composing that noble work : upon which, con- scious of the importance and dignity of the sub- ject, he valued himself more than upon all bis other writings. MR. JAMES THOMSON. xix While Mr. Thomson was writing the First Part of Liberty, he received a severe shock, by the death of his noble friend and fellow-traveller ; which was soon followed by another that was severer still, and of more general concern; the death of Lord Talbot himself; which Mr. Thom- son so pathetically and so justly laments in the poem dedicated to his memory. In him the na- tion saw itself deprived of an uncorrupted patriot, the faithful guardian of their rights, on whose wisdom and integrity they had founded their hopes of relief from many tedious vexations: and Mr, Thomson, besides his share in the general mourning, had to bear all the affliction which a heart like his could feel, for the person whom, of all mankind, he most revered and loved. At the same time, he found himself, from an easy com- petency, reduced to a state of precarious depen- dence, in which he passed the remainder of his life ; excepting only the two last years of it, during which he enjoyed the place of Surveyor-General of the Leeward Islands, procured for him by the generous friendship of my Lord Lyttelton, Immediately upon his return to England with Mr. Talbot, the Chancellor had made him his Secretary of Briefs; a place of little attendance, xx THE LIFE OF suiting his retired indolent way of life, and equal to all his wants. This place fell with his patron; and although the noble Lord who succeeded to Lord Talbot in office, kept it vacant for some time, probably till Mr. Thomson should apply for it, he was so dispirited, and so listless to every concern of that kind, that he never took one step in the affair : a neglect which his best friends greatly blamed in him. Yet could not his genius be depressed, or his temper hurt, by this reverse of fortune. He re- sumed, with time, his usual cheerfulness, and never abated one article in his way of living; which, though simple, was genial and elegant. The profits arising from his works were not in- considerable : his tragedy of Agamemnon, acted in 1738, yielded a good sum; Mr. Millar was always at hand, to answer, or even to prevent his demands; and he had a friend or two besides, whose hearts, he knew, were not contracted by the ample fortunes they had acquired; who would, of themselves, interpose, if they saw any occasion for it. But his chief dependence, during this long in- terval, was on the protection and bounty of his MR. JAMES THOMSON. xxi Royal Highness Frederic Prince of Wales; who, upon the recommendation of Lord Lyttel- ton, then his chief favourite, settled on him a handsome allowance. And afterwards, when he was introduced to his Royal Highness, that excel- lent prince, who truly was what Mr. Thomson paints him, the friend of mankind and of merits received him very graciously, and ever after ho- noured him with many marks of particular fa- vour and confidence. A circumstance, which does equal honour to the patron and the poet, ought not here to be omitted ; that my Lord Lyt- telton's recommendation came altogether unsoli- cited, and long before Mr. Thomson was perso- nally known to him. It happened, however, that the favour of his Royal Highness was in one instance of some pre- judice to our author; in the refusal of a licence for his tragedy of Edward and Eleonora, which he had prepared for the stage in the year 1739. The reader may see that this play contains not a line which could justly give offence; but the ministry, still sore from certain pasquinades, which had lately produced the stage act ; and as little satisfied with some part of the prince's poli- THE LIFE OF tical conduct, as he was with their management of the public affairs, would not risque the repre- sentation of a piece written under his eye, and, they might probably think, by his command. This refusal drew after it another; and in a way which, as it is related, was rather ludicrous. Mr. Paterson, a companion of Mr. Thomson, af- terwards his deputy and then his successor in the general-surveyorship, used to write out fair copies for his friend, when such were wanted for the press or for the stage. This gentleman likewise courted the tragic muse, and had taken for his subject the story of Arminius the German hero. But his play, guiltless as it was, being presented for a licence, no sooner had the censor cast his eyes on the hand- writing in which he had seen Edward and Eleonora, than he cried out, M Away with it !" and the author's profits were reduced to what his bookseller could afford for a tragedy in distress. Mr. Thomson's next dramatic performance was the Masque of Alfred ; written, jointly with Mr. Mallet, by command of the Prince of Wales, for the entertainment of His Royal Highness's. MR. JAMES THOMSON. xxiii court, at his summer residence. This piece, with some alterations, and the music new, has been since brought upon the stage by Mr. Mallet. It was acted at Clifden, in the year 1740, on the birth-day of her Royal Highness the Princess Augusta. In the year 1745, hisTancred and Sigismunda, taken from the novel in Gil Bias, was performed with applause ; and from the deep romantic dis- tress of the lovers, continues to draw crowded houses. The success of this piece was indeed in- sured from the first by Mr. Garrick and Mrs. Cibber, who appeared in the principal charac- ters; which they heightened and adorned with all the magic of their never- failing art. He had, in the mean time, been finishing his Castle of Indolence, in two Cantos. It was, at first, little more than a few detached stanzas, in the way of raillery on himself, and on some of his friends, who would reproach him with indo- lence ; while he thought them, at least, as indo- lent as himself. But he saw very soon, that the subject deserved to be treated more seriously, and in a form fitted to convey one of the most im- portant moral lessons. xxiv THE LIFE OF The stanza which he uses in this work is that of Spenser, borrowed from the Italian poets; in which he thought rhymes had their proper place, and were even graceful : the compass of the stan- za admitting an agreeable variety of final sounds: while the sense of the poet is not cramped or cut short, nor yet too much dilated ; as must often happen, when it is parcelled out into rhymed couplets; the usual measure indeed of our elegy and satire-, but which always weakens the higher poetry, and, to a true ear, will sometimes give it an air of the burlesque. This was the last piece Mr. Thomson himself published; his tragedy of Coriolanus being only prepared for the theatre, when a fatal accident robbed the world of one of the best men, and best poets, that lived in it. He had always been a timorous horseman; and more so, in a road where numbers of giddy or unskilful riders are continually passing : so that, when the weather did not invite him to go by water, he would commonly walk the distance be- tween London and Richmond, with any acquaint- ance that offered; with whom he might chat and rest himself, or perhaps dine, by the way. One MR. JAMES THOMSON. xxv summer evening, being alone, in his walk from town to Hammersmith, he had overheated him- self, and, in that condition, imprudently took a boat to carry him to Kew ; apprehending no bad consequence from the chill air on the river, which his walk to his house, at the upper end of Kew- lane, had always hitherto prevented. But now the cold had so seized him, that next day he found himself in a high fever, so much the more to be dreaded that he was of a full habit. This, however, by the use of proper medicines, was removed, so that he was thought to be out of danger : till the fine weather having tempted him to expose himself once more to the evening dews, his fever returned with violence, and with such symptoms as left no hopes of a cure. Two days had passed before his relapse was known in town ; at last, Mr. Mitchell and Mr. Reid, with Dr. Arm- strong, being informed of it, posted out at midnight to his assistance: but, alas! came only to endure a sight of all others the most shocking to nature, the last agonies of their beloved friend. This lamented death happened on the 27th day of August, 1748. His testamentary executors were, the Lord Lyttelton, whose care of our poet's fortune and THE LIFE OF fame ceased not with his life; and Mr. Mitchell, a gentleman equally noted for the truth and con- stancy of his private friendships, and for his ad- dress and spirit as a public minister. By their united interest, the orphan play of Coriolanus was brought on the stage to the best advantage : from the profits of which, and the sale of manu- scripts, and other effects, all demands were duly satisfied, and a handsome sum remitted to his sis- ters. My Lord Lyttelton's prologue to this piece was admired as one of the best that had ever been written: the best spoken it certainly was. The sympathizing audience saw that then, indeed, Mr. Quin was no actor ; that the tears he shed were those of real friendship and grief. Mr. Thomson's remains were deposited in the church of Richmond, under a plain stone, with- out any inscription : nor did his brother poets at all exert themselves on the occasion, as they had lately done for one who had been the terror of poets all his life-time. This silence furnished matter to one of his friends for an excellent satiri- cal epigram, which we are sorry we cannot give the reader. Only one gentleman, Mr. Collins, who had lived some time at Richmond, but forsook it when Mr. Thomson died, wrote an ode to his me- MR. JAMES THOMSON. mory. This, for the dirge-like melancholy it breathes, and the warmth of affection that seems to have dictated it, we shall subjoin to the present account. Our author himself hints, somewhere in his works, that his exterior was not the most promis- ing; his make being rather robust than graceful : though it is known that in his youth he had been thought handsome. His worst appearance was, when you saw him walking alone, in a thought- ful mood : but let a friend accost him, and enter into conversation, he would instantly brighten into a most amiable aspect, his features no longer the same, and his eye darting a peculiar animated fire. The case was much alike in company; where, if it was mixed, or very numerous, he made but an indifferent figure: but with a few" select friends, he was open, sprightly, and enter- taining. His wit flowed freely, but pertinently, and at due intervals, leaving room for every one to contribute his share. Such was his extreme sensibility, so perfect the harmony of his organs with the sentiments of his mind, that his looks always announced, and half expressed, what he was about to say; and his voice corresponded ex- actly to the manner and degree in which he was THE LIFE OF affected. This sensibility had one inconvenience attending it, that it rendered him the very worst reader of good poetry : a sonnet, or a copy of tame verses, he could manage pretty well; or even improve them in the reading: but a passage of Virgil, Milton, or Shakspeare, would sometimes quite oppress him, that you could hear little else than some ill-articulated sounds, rising as from the bottom of his breast. Hehad improved his taste upon the best originals, ancient and modern ; but could not bear to write what was not strictly his own, what had not more immediately struck his imagination, or touched his heart: so that he is not in the least concerned in that question about the merit or demerit of imitators. What he borrows from the ancients, he gives us in an avowed faithful paraphrase or translation ; as we see in a few passages taken from Virgil, and in that beautiful picture from Pliny the elder, where the course, and gradual increase, of the Nile, are figured by the stages of man's life. The autumn was his favourite season for poeti- cal composition, and the deep silence of the night, the time he commonly chose for such studies ; so that he would often be heard walking MR. JAMES THOMSON. xxix in his library till near morning, humming over, in his way, what he was to correct and write out next day. The amusements of his leisure hours were civil and natural history, voyages, and the relations of travellers, the most authentic he could procure: and, had his situation favoured it, he would cer- tainly have excelled in ^gardening, agriculture, and every rural improvement and exercise. Al- though he performed on no instrument, he was passionately fond of music, and would sometimes listen a full hour at his window to the nightingales in Richmond gardens. While abroad, he had been greatly delighted with the regular Italian drama, such as Metastasio writes; as it is there heightened by the charms of the best voices and instruments ; and looked upon our theatrical en- tertainments as, in one respect, naked and imper- fect, when compared with the ancient, or with those of Italy; wishing sometimes that a chorus, at least, and a better recitative, could be intro- duced. Nor was his taste less exquisite in the arts of painting, sculpture, and architecture. In his tra- vels he had seen all the most celebrated monu- THE LIFE OF ments of antiquity, and the best productions of modern art; and studied them so minutely, and with so true a judgment, that in some of his de- scriptions, in the poem of Liberty, we have the master-pieces there mentioned placed in a stronger light perhaps than if we saw them with our eyes; at least more justly delineated than in any other account extant : so superior is a natural taste of the grand and beautiful, to the traditional lessons of a common virtuoso. His collection of prints, and some drawings from the antique, are now in the possession of his friend Mr. Gray, of Richmond Hill. As for his more distinguishing qualities of mind and heart, they are better represented in his writ- ings than they can'be by the pen of any biogra- pher. There, his love of mankind, of his coun- try and friends, his devotion to the Supreme Be- ing, founded on the most elevated and just con- ceptions of his operations and providence, shine out in every page. So unbounded was his ten- derness of heart, that it took in even the brute creation: judge what it must have been towards his own species. He is not indeed known, through his whole life, to have given any person one moment's pain, by his writings or otherwise. MR. JAMES THOMSON. He took no part in the poetical squabbles which happened in his time ; and was respected and left undisturbed by both sides. He would even refuse to take offence when he justly might; by inter- rupting any personal story that was brought him, with some jest, or some humorous apology for the offender. Nor was he ever seen ruffled or dis- composed, but when he read or heard of some flagrant instance of injustice, oppression, or cruel- ty; then, indeed, the strongest marks of horror and indignation were visible in his countenance. These amiable virtues, this divine temper of mind, did not fail of their due reward. His friends loved him with enthusiastic ardour, and lamented his untimely fate in the manner that is still fresh in every one's memory; the best and greatest men of his time honoured him with their friendship and protection; the applause of the public attended every appearance he made; the actors, of whom the more eminent were his friends and admirers, grudging no pains lo do justice to his tragedies. At present, indeed, if we except Tancred, they are seldom called for; the simplicity of his plots, and the models he worked after, not suiting the reigning taste, nor the impa- tience of an English theatre. They niay here- THE LIFE OF MR. THOMSON. after come to be in vogue : but we hazard no comment or conjecture upon them, or upon any part of Mr. Thomson's works; neither need they any defence or apology, after the reception they have had at home, and in the foreign languages into which they have been translated. We shall only say, that, to judge from the imitations of his manner, which have been following him close, from the very first publication of Winter, he seems to have fixed no inconsiderable aera of the English poetry. ON THE DEATH OF MR. THOMSON, BY MR. COLLINS. [The scene of the following stanzas is supposed to lie on the Thames, near Richmond. ~\ N yonder grave a Druid lies, Where slowly winds the stealing wave ! The year's best sweet's shall duteous rise To deck its Poet's sylvan grave ! In yon deep bed of whispering reeds His airy harp* shall now be laid, That he, whose heart in sorrow bleeds, May love thro' life the soothing shade. * The harp of jEolus, of which see a description in the Castle of Indolence. xxxiv ODE ON THE Then maids and youths shall linger here, And while its sounds at distance swell, Shall sadly seem in Pity's ear, To hear the Woodland Pilgrim's knell. Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore When Thames in summer wreaths is drest, And oft suspend the dashing oar To bid his gentle spirit rest! And oft as Ease and Health retire To breezy lawn, or forest deep, The friend shall view yon whitening spire*, And 'mid the varied landscape weep. But Thou, who own'st that earthy bed, Ah! what will every dirge avail? Or tears, which Love and Pity shed, That mourn beneath the gliding sail! Yet lives there one, whose heedless eye Shall scorn thy pale shrine glimm'ring near ? With him, sweet bard, may Fancy die, And Joy desert the blooming year. * Richmond Church. DEATH OF MR. THOMSON. xxxv But thou, lorn stream, whose sullen tide No sedge-crown'd Sisters now attend, Now waft me from the green hill's side Whose cold turf hides the buried friend! And see the fairy valleys fade, Dun Night has veil'd the solemn view I Yet once again, dear parted shade, Meek Nature's Child, again adieu! The genial meads assign'd to bless Thy life, shall mourn thy early doom, Their hinds and shepherd-girls shall dress* With simple hands, thy rural tomb. Long, long, thy stone, and pointed clay, Shall melt the musing Briton's eyes; O ! vales, and wild woods, shall he say* In yonder grave Your Druid lies! AN ESSAY ON THE PLAN AND CHARACTER OF THOMSON'S SEASONS. HEN a work of art to masterly execution adds novelty of design, it demands not only a cursory admiration, but such a mature enquiry into the principles upon which it has been form- ed, as may determine how far it deserves to be received as a model for future attempts in the same walk. Originals are always rare productions. The performances of artists in general, even of those who stand high in their respective classes, are only imitations; which have more or less me- rit, in proportion to the degree of skill and judg- d xxxviii AN ESSAY ON ment with which they copy originals more or less excellent. A good original, therefore, forms an aera in the art itself; and the history of every art divides itself into periods comprehending the intervals between the appearance of different approved originals. Sometimes, indeed, various models of a very different cast may exercise the talents of imitators during a single period ; and this will more frequently be the case, as arts become more generally known and studied; difference of taste being always the result of liberal and varied pursuit. How strongly these periods are marked in the history of Poetry, both ancient and modern, a cur- sory view will suffice to shew. The scarcity of originals here is universally acknowledged and la- mented, and the present race of poets are thought particularly chargeable with this defect. It ought, however, to be allowed in their favour, that if ge- nius has declined, taste has improved; and that if they imitate more, they choose better models to copy after. That Thomson's Seasons is the original whence our modern descriptive poets have derived that more elegant and correct style of painting na- THOMSON'S SEASONS. tural objects which distinguishes them from their immediate predecessors, will, I think, appear evi- dent to one who examines their several casts and manners. That none of them, however, have yet equalled their master; and that his performance is an exquisite piece, replete with beauties of the most engaging and delightful kind, will be sen- sibly felt by all of congenial taste ; — and perhaps no poem was ever composed which addressed itself to the feelings of a greater number of readers. It is, therefore, on every account, an object well worthy the attention of criticism; and an enquiry into the peculiar nature of its plan and the manner of its execution may be an agreeable introduction to a re-perusal of it in the elegant edition now of- fered to the public. The description of such natural objects as by their beauty, grandeur, or novelty, agreeably im- press the imagination, has at all times been a prin- cipal and favourite occupation of poetry. Various have been the methods in which such descriptions have been introduced. They have been made sub- servient to the purposes of ornament and illustra- tion, in the more elevated and abstracted kind of poetry, by being used as objects of similitude. They have constituted a pleasing and necessary xl AN ESSAY ON part of epic narration, when employed in forming a scenery suitable to the events. The simple tale of pastoral life could scarcely without their aid be rendered in any degree interesting. The pre- cepts of an art, and the systems of philosophers, depend upon the adventitious ornaments afforded by them for almost every thing which can render them fit subjects for poetry. Thus intermixed as they are with almost all, and essential to some species of poetry, it was, how- ever, thought that they could not legitimately con- stitute the whole, or even the principal part, of a capital piece. Something of a more solid nature was required as the ground-work of a poetical fa- bric ; pure description was opposed to sense \ and, binding together the wild flowers which grew ob- vious to common sight and touch, was deemed a trifling and unprofitable amusement. Such was the state of critical opinion, when Thomson published, in succession, but not in their present order*, the pieces which compose the Seasons; the first capital work in which natural description was professedly the principal * They appeared in the following order: Winter, Sum- mer, Spring, Autumn. THOxMSON's SEASONS. xli object. To paint the face of nature as changing through the changing seasons; to mark the ap- proaches, and trace the progress of these vicissi- tudes, in a series of landscapes all formed upon images of grandeur or beauty; and to give anima- tion and variety to the whole by interspersing man- ners and incidents suitable to the scenery ; appears to be the general design of this Poem. Essentially different from a didactic piece, its business is to de- scribe, and the occupation of its leisure to teach. And as in the Georgics, whenever the poet has, for a while borne away by the warmth of fancy, wan- dered through the flowery wilds of description, he suddenly checks himself, and returns to the toils of the husbandman ; so Thomson, in the midst of his delightful lessons of morality, and affecting rela- tions, recurs to a view of that state of the season which introduced the digression. It is an attention to this leading idea, that in this piece there is a progressive series of descrip- tions, all tending to a certain point, and all parts of a general plan, which alone can enable us to range through the vast variety and quick succes- sion of objects presented in it, with any clear con- ception of the writer's method, or true judgment concerning what may be regarded as forwarding xlii AN ESSAY ON his main purpose, or as merely ornamental devia- tion. The particular elucidation of this point will constitute the principal part of the present Essay. Although each of the Seasons appears to have been intended as a complete piece, and contains within itself the natural order of beginning, mid- dle, and termination, yet as they were at length collected and modelled by their author, they have all a mutual relation to each other, and concur in forming a more comprehensive whole. The an- nual space in which the earth performs its revolu- tion round the sun is so strongly marked by nature for a perfect period, that all mankind have agreed in forming their computations of time upon it. In all the temperate climates of the globe, the four seasons are so many progressive stages in this cir- cuit, which, like the acts in a well-constructed drama, gradually disclose, ripen, and bring to an end the various business transacted on the great theatre of Nature. The striking analogy which this period with its several divisions bears to the course of human existence, has been remarked and pursued by writers of all ages and countries. Spring has been represented as the youth of the year — the season of pleasing hope, lively energy, and rapid increase — Summer has been resembled THOMSON'S SEASONS. xliii to perfect manhood — the season of steady warmth, confirmed strength, and unremitting vigour. Au- tumn, which, while it bestows the rich products of full maturity, is yet ever hastening to decline, has been aptly compared to that period, when the man, mellowed by age, yields the most valuable fruits of experience and wisdom, but daily exhibits increasing symptoms of decay. The cold, cheer- less, and sluggish Winter has almost without a me- taphor been termed the decrepid and hoary old age of the year. Thus the history of the year, pursued through its changing seasons, is that of an individual, whose existence is marked by a pro- gressive course from its origin to its termination. It is thus represented by our poet; this idea pre- serves an unity and connection through his whole work; and the accurate observer will remark a beautiful chain of circumstances in his descrip- tion, by which the birth, vigour, decline, and ex- tinction of the vital principle of the year are pic- tured in the most lively manner. This order and gradation of the whole runs, as has been already hinted, through each division of the poem. Every season has its incipient, con- firmed, and receding state, of which its historian ought to give distinct views, arranged according jtliv AN ESSAY ON to the succession in which they appear. Each, too, like the prismatic colours, is distinguishably blended in its origin and termination with that which precedes, and which follows it; and it may be expected from the pencil of an artist to hit off these mingled shades so as to produce a pleasing and picturesque effect. Our poet has not been inattentive to these circumstances in the conduct of his plan. His Spring begins with a view of the season as yet unconfirmed, and partaking of the roughness of Winter*; and it is not till after several steps in gradual progression, that it breaks forth in all its ornaments, as the favourite of Love and Pleasure. His Autumn, after a rich pro- spect of its bounties and splendours, gently fades into " the sere, the yellow leaf," and with the lengthened night, the clouded sun, and the rising storm, sinks into the arms of Winter. It is re- markable, that in order to produce something of a similar effect in his Summer, a season which, on account of its uniformity of character, does not admit of any strongly-marked gradations, he has comprised the whole of his description within the * A descriptive piece, in which this very interval of time is represented, with all the accuracy of a naturalist, and vivid colouring of a poet, has lately appeared in a poem of Mr. Warton's, intituled " The First of April." THOMSON'S SEASONS. xW limits of a single day, pursing the course of the sun from its rising to its setting. A Summer's day is, in reality, a just model of the entire season. Its beginning is moist and temperate ; its middle, sul- try and parching; its close, soft and refreshing. By thus exhibiting all the vicissitudes of Summer under one point of view, they are rendered much more striking than could have been done in a series of feebly contrasted and scarcely distinguish- able periods. With this idea of the general plan of the whole work, and of its several parts, we proceed to take a view of the various subjects composing the de- scriptive series of which it principally consists. Every grand and beautiful appearance in na- ture, that distinguishes one portion of the annual circuit from another, is a proper source of mate- rials for the Poet of the Seasons. Of these, some are obvious to the common observer, and require only justness and elegance of taste for the selec- tion: others discover themselves only to the mind opened and enlarged by science and philosophy. All the knowledge we acquire concerning natural objects by such a train of observation and reason- ing as merits the appellation of science, is compre- xlvi AN ESSAY ON hended under the two divisions of Natural Philoso- phy and Natural History. Both of these may be employed to advantage in descriptive poetry: for although it be true, that poetical composition, being rather calculated for amusement than in- struction, and addressing itself to the many who feel, rather than to the few who reason, is impro- perly occupied about the abstruse and argumen- tative parts of a science; yet, to reject those grand and beautiful ideas which a philosophical view of nature offers to the mind, merely because they are above the comprehension of vulgar readers, is surely an unnecessary degradation of this noble art. Still more narrow and unreasonable is that critical precept, which, in conformity to the re- ceived notion that fiction is the soul of poetry, obliges the poet to adopt ancient errors in pre- ference to modern truths; and this even where truth has the advantage in point of poetical effect. In fact, modern philosophy is as much superior to the ancient in sublimity as in solidity; and the most vivid imagination cannot paint to itself scenes of grandeur equal to those which cool science and demonstration offer to the enlightened mind. Ob- jects so vast and magnificent as planets rolling with even pace through their orbits, comets rushing along their devious track, light springing from its THOMSON'S SEASONS. xlvii unexhausted source, mighty rivers formed in their subterranean beds, do not require,- or even admit, a heightening from the fancy. The most faith- ful pencil here produces the noblest pictures; and Thomson, by strictly adhering to the character of the Poet of Nature, has treated all these topics with a true sublimity, which a writer of less know- ledge and accuracy could never have attained. The strict propriety with which subjects from As- tronomy and the other parts of Natural Philoso- phy are introduced into a poem describing the changes of the Seasons, need not be insisted on, since it is obvious that the primary cause of all these changes is to be sought in principles derived from these sciences. They are the ground -work of the whole ; and establish that connected series of cause and effect, upon which all those ap- pearances in nature depend, from whence the de- scriptive poet draws his materials. Natural History, in its most extensive significa- tion, includes every observation relative to the distinctions, resemblances, and changes of all the bodies, both animate and inanimate, which nature offers to us. These observations, however, deserve to be considered as part of a science only when they refer to some general truth, and form xlviii AN ESSAY ON a link of that vast chain which connects all created beings in one grand system. It was my attempt, in an Essay lately published*, to shew how neces- sary a more accurate and scientific survey of natu- ral objects than has usually been taken, was to the avoiding the common defects, and attaining the highest beauties of descriptive poetry; and some of the most striking examples of excellence arising from this source were extracted from the poem now before us. It will be unnecessary here to recapitulate the substance of these remarks, or to mark out singly the several passages of our author which display his talents for description to the greatest advantage. Our present design rather re- quires such a general view of the materials he has collected, and the method in which he has ar- ranged them, as may shew in what degree they forward and coincide with the plan of his work. The correspondence between certain changes in the animal and vegetable tribes, and those revolu- tions of the heavenly bodies which produce the vicissitudes of the Seasons, is the foundation of an alliance between Astronomy and Natural History, that equally demands attention, as a matter of cu- * Essay on the Application of Natural History to Poetry. THOMSON'S SEASONS. xlix rious speculation and of practical utility. The astronomical calendar, filled up by the Naturalist, is a combination of science at the same time preg- nant with important instruction to the husband- man, and fertile in grand and pleasing objects to the poet and philosopher. Thomson seems con- stantly to have kept in view a combination of this kind; and to have formed from it such an idea of the economy of Nature, as enabled him to pre- serve a regularity of method and uniformity of design through all the variety of his descriptions. We shall attempt to draw out a kind of historical narrative of his progress through the Seasons, as far as this order is observable. Spring is characterized as the season of the re- novation of nature; in which animals and vege- tables, excited by the kindly influence of return- ing warmth, shake off the torpid inaction of Win- ter, and prepare for the continuance and increase of their several species. The vegetable tribes, as more independent and self- provided, lead the way in this progress. The poet, accordingly, begins with representing the reviviscent plants emerging, as soon as genial showers have softened the ground, in numbers " beyond the power of botanists to " reckon up their tribes." The opening bios- AN ESSAY ON soms and flowers soon call forth from their winter retreats those industrious insects which derive sus- tenance from their nectareous juices. As the beams of the sun become more potent, the larger vegetables, shrubs and trees, unfold their leaves ; and, as soon as a friendly concealment is by their means provided for the various nations of the fea- thered race, they joyfully begin the course of la- borious, but pleasing occupations, which are to engage them during the whole season. The delightful series of pictures, so truly expressive of that genial spirit that pervades the Spring, which Thomson has formed on the variety of circum- stances attending the Passion of the Groves, cannot escape the notice and admiration of the most neg- ligent eye. Affected by the same soft influence, and equally indebted to the renewed vegetable tribes for food and shelter, the several kinds of quadrupeds are represented as concurring in the celebration of this charming Season with conjugal and parental rites. Even Man himself, though from his social condition less under the dominion of physical necessities, is properly described as partaking of the general ardour. . Such is the order and connexion of this whole book, that it might well pass for a commentary upon a most beautiful passage in the philosophical poet Lucretius; who THOMSON'S SEASONS. certainly wanted nothing but a better system and more circumscribed subject, to have appeared as one of the greatest masters of description in either ancient or modern poetry. Reasoning on the imperishable nature, and perpetual circulation, of the particles of matter, he deduces all the delight- ful appearances of Spring from the seeds of ferti- lity which descend in the vernal showers. pereunt imbres, ubi eos pater ^Ether In gremium matris Terrai precipitavit. At nitidse surgunt fruges, ramique virescunt Arboribus; crescunt ipsse, fcetuque gravantur: Hinc alitur porro nostrum genus, atque ferarum : Hinc laetas urbeis pueris florere videmus, Frundiferasque novis avibus canere undique sylvas . Hinc fessae pecudes pingues per pabula beta Corpora deponunt, et candens lacteus humor Uberibus manat distentis ; hinc nova proles Artubus infirmis teneras lasciva per herbas Ludit, lacte mero menteis percussa novellas. Lib. I. 251, &c. The rains are lost when Jove descends in showers Soft on the bosom of the parent earth: But springs the shining grain; their verdant robe The trees resume; they grow, and pregnant bend Beneath their fertile load : hence kindly food The living tribes receive: the cheerful town Beholds its joyous bands of flowering youth ; With new-born songs the leafy groves resound : Mi AN ESSAY ON The full-fed flocks amid the laughing meacls Their weary bodies lay, while wide-distent The plenteous udder teems with milky juice; And o'er the grass, as their young hearts beat high, SwelFd by the pure and generous streams they drain, Frolic the wanton lambs with joints infirm. The period of Summer is marked by fewer and less striking changes in the face of Nature. A soft and pleasing languor, interrupted only by the gradual progression of the vegetable and animal tribes towards their state of maturity, forms the leading character of this Season. The active fer- mentation of the juices, which the first access of genial warmth had excited, now subsides; and the increasing heats rather inspire faintness and inac- tion than lively exertions. The insect race alone seem animated with peculiar vigour under the more direct influence of the sun; and are there- fore with equal truth and advantage introduced by the poet to enliven the silent and drooping scenes presented by the other forms of animal nature. As this source, however, together with whatever else our summers afford, is insufficient to furnish novelty and business enough for this act of the drama of the year, the poet judiciously opens a new field, profusely fertile in objects suited to the glowing colours of descriptive poetry. By an easy THOMSON'S SEASONS. liii and natural transition, he quits the chastised sum- mer of our temperate clime for those regions where a perpetual Summer reigns, exalted by such supe- rior degrees of solar heat as give an entirely new face to almost every part of nature. The terrific grandeur prevalent in some of these, the exquisite richness and beauty in others, and the novelty in all, afford such a happy variety for the poet's se- lection, that we need not wonder if some of his noblest pieces are the product of this delightful excursion. He returns, however, with apparent satisfaction, to take a last survey of the softer sum- mer of our island ; and, after closing the prospect of terrestrial beauties, artfully shifts the scene to celestial splendours, ivhich, though perhaps not more striking in this season than in some of the others, are now alone agreeable objects of contem- plation in a northern climate. Autumn is too eventful a period in the history of the year, within the temperate parts of the globe, to require foreign aid for rendering it more varied and interesting. The promise of the Spring is now fulfilled. The silent and gradual process of ma- turation is completed ; and Human Industry be- holds with triumph the rich products of its toil. The vegetable tribes disclose their infinitely vari- Hv AN ESSAY ON ous forms of fruit; which term, while, with respecf to common use, it is confined to a few peculiar modes of fructification, in the more comprehen- sive language of the Naturalist includes every pro- duct of vegetation by which the rudiments of a future progeny are developed, and separated from the parent plant. These are in part collected and stored up by those animals for whose sustenance during the ensuing sleep of nature they are pro- vided. The rest, furnished with various contri- vances for dissemination, are scattered by the friendly winds which now begin to blow, over the surface of that earth which they are to clothe and decorate. The young of the animal race, which Spring and Summer had brought forth and che- rished, having now acquired sufficient vigour, quit their concealments, and offer themselves to the pursuit of the carnivorous among their fellow-ani mals, and of the great destroyer man. Thus the scenery is enlivened with the various sports of the hunter; which, however repugnant they may ap- pear to that system of general benevolence and sympathy which philosophy would inculcate, have ever afforded a most agreeable exertion to the human powers, and have much to plead in their favour as a necessary part of the great plan of Na- ture. Indeed, she marks her intention with suf- THOMSON'S SEASONS. ficient precision, by refusing to grant any longer those friendly shades which had grown for the protection of the infant offspring. The grove loses its honours; but before they are entirely tar- nished, an adventitious beauty, arising from that gradual decay which loosens the withering leaf, gilds the autumnal landscape with a temporary splendour, superior to the verdure of Spring, or the luxuriance of Summer. The infinitely various and ever-changing hues of the leaves at this sea- son, melting into every soft gradation of tint and shade, have long engaged the imitation of the painter, and are equally happy ornaments in the description of the poet. These unvarying symptoms of approaching Winter now warn several of the winged tribes to prepare for their aerial voyage to those happy cli- mates of perpetual summer, where no deficiency of food or shelter can ever distress them; and about the same time other fowls of hardier consti- tution, which are contented with escaping the iron winters of the arctic regions, arrive to supply the vacancy. Thus the striking scenes afforded by that wonderful part of the economy of nature, the migration of birds, present themselves at this sea- son to the poet. The thickening fogs, the heavy lvi AN ESSAY ON rains, the swoln rivers, while they deform this sinking period of the year, add new subjects to the pleasing variety which reigns throughout its whole course, and which justifies the poet's cha- racter of it, as the season when the Muse " best exerts her voice." Winter, directly opposite as it is in other re- spects to Summer, yet resembles it in this, that it is a Season in which Nature is employed rather in secretly preparing for the mighty changes which it successively brings to light, than in the actual exhibition of them. It is therefore a period equally barren of events; and has still less of ani- mation than Summer, inasmuch as lethargic in- sensibility is a state more distant from vital energy than the languor of indolent repose. From the fall of the leaf, and withering of the herb, an un- varying death-like torpor oppresses almost the whole vegetable creation, and a considerable part of the animal, during this entire portion of the year. The whole insect race, which filled every part of the Summer landscape with life and mo- tion, are now either buried in profound sleep, or actually no longer exist, except in the unformed rudiments of a future progeny. Many of the birds and quadrupeds are retired to concealments. THOMSON'S SEASONS. Ivii from which not even the calls of hunger can force them ; and the rest, intent only on the pre- servation of a joyless being, have ceased to exert those powers of pleasing, which, at other seasons, so much contribute to their mutual happiness, as well as to the amusement of their human sove- reign. Their social connexions, however, are improved by. their wants. In order the better to procure their scanty subsistence, and resist the in- clemencies of the sky, they are taught by instinct to assemble in flocks; and this provision has the secondary effect of gratifying the spectator with something of novelty and action even in the drea- riness of a wintry prospect. But it is in the extraordinary changes and agi- tations which the elements and the surrounding atmosphere undergo during this season, that the poet of nature must principally look for relief from the gloomy uniformity reigning through other parts of the creation. Here scenes are pre- sented to his view, which, were they less frequent, must strike with wonder and admiration the most incurious spectator. The effects of cold are more sudden, and in many instances more extraordinary and unexpected, than those of heat. He who has IviiL AN ESSAY ON beheld the vegetable productions of even a nor- thern Summer, will not be greatly amazed at the richer, and more luxuriant, but still resembling, growths of the tropics. But one, who has always been accustomed to view water in a liquid and co- lourless state, cannot form the least conception of the same element as hardened into an extensive plain of solid crystal, or covering the ground with a robe of the purest white. The highest possible degree of astonishment must therefore attend the first view of these phenomena; and as in our temperate climate but a small portion of the year affords these spectacles, we find that, even here, they have novelty enough to excite emotions of agreeable surprise. But it is not to novelty alone that they owe their charms. Their intrinsic beauty is, perhaps, individually superior to that of the gayest objects presented by the other seasons. Where is the elegance and brilliancy that can compare with that which decorates every tree or bush on the clear morning succeeding a night of hoar frost? or what is the lustre that would not appear dull and tarnished in competition with a field of snow just glazed over with frost ? By the vivid description of such objects as these, con- trasted with the savage sublimity of storms and THOMSON'S SEASONS. Hx » ... . — _, tempests, our poet has been able to produce a set of winter landscapes, as engaging to the fancy as the apparently happier scenes of genial warmth and verdure. But he has not trusted entirely to these resources for combating the natural sterility of Winter. Re- peating the pleasing artifice of his Summer, he has called in foreign aid, and has heightened the scenery with grandeur and horror not our own. The famished troops of wolves pouring from the Alps; the mountains of snow rolling down the precipices of the same regions; the dreary plains over which the Laplander urges his rein-deer; the wonders of the icy sea, the volcanoes " flaming thro' ft waste of snow;" are objects judiciously se- lected from all that Nature presents most singular and striking in the various domains of boreal cold and wintry desolation. Thus have we attempted to give a general view of those materials which constitute the ground- work of a poem on the Seasons; which are essen- tial to its very nature; and on the proper arrange- ment of which its regularity and connexion de- pend. The extent of knowledge, as well as the powers of description, which Thomson has exhi- lx AN ESSAY ON bitcd in this part of his work, is, on the whole, truly admirable ; and though, with the present advanced taste for accurate observation in Natural History, some improvements might be suggested, yet he certainly remains unrivalled in the list of descriptive poets. But the rural landscape is not solely made up of land, and water, and trees, and birds, and beasts ; man is a distinguished fire in it; his multiplied occupations and concerns introduce themselves into every part of it; he intermixes even in the wildest and rudest scenes, and throws a life and interest upon every surrounding object. Manners and character therefore constitute a part even of a descriptive poem ; and in a plan so extensive as the history of the year, they must enter under va- rious forms, and upon numerous occasions. The most obvious and appropriated use of hu- man figures in pictures of the Seasons, is the intro- duction of them to assist in marking out the suc- cession of annual changes by their various labours and amusements. In common with other animals, man is directed in the diversified employment of earning a toilsome subsistence by an attention to the vicissitudes of the seasons; and all his diver- THOMSON'S SEASONS. by sions in the simple state of rustic society are also regulated by the same circumstance. Thus a se- ries of moving figures enlivens the landscape, and contributes to stamp on each scene its peculiar character. The shepherd, the husbandman, the hunter, appear in their turns ; and may be con- sidered as natural concomitants of that portion of the yearly round which prompts their several oc- cupations. But it is not only the bodily pursuits of man which are affected by these changes ; the sensa- tions and affections of his mind are almost equally under their influence : and the result of the whole, as forming the enamoured votary of Nature to a peculiar cast of character and manners, is not less conspicuous. Thus the poet of the Seasons is at liberty, without deviating from his plan, to de- scant on the varieties of moral constitution, and the powers which external causes are found to possess over the temper of the soul. He may draw pic- tures of the pastoral life in all its genuine simpli- city; and, assuming the tone of a moral instructor, may contrast the peace and felicity of innocent retirement with the turbulent agitations of ambi- tion and avarice. lxii AN ESSAY ON The various incidents too, upon which the sim- ple tale of rural events is founded, are very much modelled by the difference of seasons. The cata- strophes of Winter differ from those of Summer; the sports of Spring from those of Autumn. Thus, little history pieces and adventures, whether pa- thetic or amusing, will suggest themselves to the Poet; which, when properly adapted to the sce- nery and circumstances, may very happily coin- cide with the main design of the composition. The bare enumeration of these several occasions of introducing draughts of human life and man- ners, will be sufficient to call to mind the admir- able use which Thomson throughout his whole poem has made of them. He, in fact, never appears more truly inspired with his subject, than when giving birth to those sentiments of tender- ness and beneficence, which seem to have occu- pied his whole heart. An universal benevolence, extending to every part of the animal creation, manifests itself in almost every scene he draws; and the rural character, as delineated in his feel- ings, contains all the softness, purity, and simpli- city that are feigned of the golden age. Yet ex- cellent as the moral and sentimental part of his work must appear to every congenial mind, it is, THOMSON'S SEASONS. lxiii perhaps, that in which he may the most easily be rivalled. A refined and feeling heart may derive from its own proper sources a store of correspond- ing sentiment, which will naturally clothe itself in the form of expression best suited to the occa- sion. Nor does the invention of those simple in- cidents which are most adapted to excite the sym- pathetic emotions, require any great stretch of fancy. The nearer they approach to common life, the more certainly will they produce their effect. Wonder and surprise are affections of so different a kind, and so distract the attention, that they never fail to diminish the force of the pathetic. On these accounts, writers much inferior in respect to the powers of description and imagery, have equalled our poet in elegant and benevolent sen- timent, and perhaps excelled him in interesting narration. Of these, it will be sufficient to men- tion the ingenious author of a French poem on the Seasons; who, though a mere copyist in the de- scriptive parts, has made many pleasing additions to the manners and incidents proper for such a composition. But there is a strain of sentiment of a higher and more digressive nature, with which Thomson has occupied a considerable portion of his poem. The Ixiv AN ESSAY ON fundamental principles of moral philosophy, ideas concerning the origin and progress of government and civilization, historical sketches, and reviews of the characters most famous in ancient and modern history, are interspersed through the various parts of the Seasons. The manly, liberal, and en- lightened spirit which this writer breathes in all his works, must ever endear him to the friends of truth and virtue; and, in particular, his genuine patriotism and zeal in the cause of liberty will render his writings always estimable to the British reader. But, just and important as his thoughts on these topics may be, there may remain a doubt in the breast of the critic, whether their introduc- tion in a piece like this do not, in some instances, break in upon that unity of character which every work of art should support. We have seen, from the general plan and tenor of the poem, that it is professedly of the rural cast. The objects it is chiefly conversant with are those presented by the hand of Nature, not the products of human heart; and when man himself is introduced as a part of the groupe, it would seem that, in conformity to the rest, he ought to be represented in such a state only, as the simplest forms of society, and most unconstrained situations in it, exhibit. Courts and cities, camps and senates, do not well accord THOMSON'S SEASONS. ]xv with silvan scenery. From the principle of con- gruity, therefore, a critic might be induced to reject some of these digressive ornaments, though intrinsically beautiful, and doubtless contributing to the elevation and variety of the piece. His judgment in this respect would be a good deaj influenced by the manner of their introduction. In some instances this is so easy and natural, that the mind is scarcely sensible of the deviation; in others it is more abrupt and unartful. As exam- ples of both, we may refer to the passages in which various characters from English, and from Grecian and Roman history, are displayed. The former, by a happy gradation, is introduced at the close of a delightful piece, containing the praises of Bri- tain; which is itself a kind of digression, though a very apt and seasonable one. The. latter has no other connexion with the part at which it is in- serted, than the very forced and distant one, that as reading may be reckoned among the amuse- ments appropriated to Winter, such subjects as these will naturally offer themselves to the studious mind. There is another source of sentiment to the Poet of the Seasons, which, while it is superior to the IxYi AN ESSAY ON last in real elevation, is also strictly connected with the nature of his work. The genuine philosopher, while he surveys the grand and beautiful objects every where surrounding him, will be prompted to lift his eye to the great cause of all these won- ders; the planner and architect of this mighty fa- bric, every minute part of which so much awakens his curiosity and admiration. The laws by which this Being acts, the ends which he seems to have pursued, must excite his humble researches; and in proportion as he discovers infinite power in the means, directed by infinite goodness in the inten- tion, his soul must be wrapt in astonishment, and expanded with gratitude. The economy of Na- ture will, to such an observer, be the perfect scheme of an all-wise and beneficent mind ; and every part of the wide creation will appear to pro- claim the praise of its great Author. Thus a new connexion will manifest itself between the several parts of the universe; and a new order and design will be traced through the progress of its various revolutions. Thomson's Seasons is as eminently a religi- ous, as it is a descriptive poem. Thoroughly im- pressed with sentiments of veneration for the Au- THOMSON'S SEASONS. hcvfi thor of that assemblage of order and beauty which it was his province to paint, he takes every proper occasion to excite similar emotions in the breasts of his readers. Entirely free from the gloom of superstition and the narrowness of bigotry, he every where represents the Deity as the kind and beneficient parent of all his works, always watch- ful over their best interests, and from seeming evil still educing the greatest possible good to all his creatures. In every appearance of nature he be- holds the operation of a divine hand ; and regards, according to his own emphatical phrase, each change throughout the revolving year as but the " varied God/' This spirit, which breaks forth at intervals in each division of his poem, shines full and concentred in that noble Hymn which crowns the work. This piece, the sublimest pro- duction of its kind since the days of Milton, should be considered as the winding up of all the variety of matter and design contained in the pre- ceding parts; and thus is not only admirable as a separate composition, but is contrived with masterly skill to strengthen the unity and con- nexion of the great whole. Thus is planned and contructed a Poem, which, founded as it is upon the unfading beauties of Na- lxviii ESSAY ON THOMSON'S SEASONS. ture, will live as long as the language in which it is written shall be read. If the perusal of it be in any respect rendered more interesting or instruc- tive by this imperfect Essay, the purpose of the writer will be fully answered. THE ARGUMENT, The subject proposed. Inscribed to the Countess of Hertford. The Season is described as it affects the various parts of Nature, ascending from the lower to the higher ; with digressions arising from the subject. Its influ- ence on inanimate matter, on vegetables, on brute animals, and, last, on Man : concluding with a dissuasive from the wild and irregular passion of love, opposed to that of a pure and happy kind. Spring a //// /7//////'t ////y //wj/Z /pA/sWl& Published hr ternor Till 5 in the western sky, the downward sun SPRING. 11 the various Parts of Nature. Looks out, effulgent, from amid the flush Of broken clouds, gay-shifting to his beam. 190 The rapid radiance instantaneous strikes Th' illumin'd mountain, thro* the forest streams, Shakes on the floods, and in a yellow mist, Far smoking o'er th* interminable plain, In twinkling myriads lights the dewy gems. 195 MoiST,bright,and green, the landskip laughs around ; Full swell the woods ; their every music wakes, Mix'd in wild concert with the warbling brooks Increas'd, the distant bleatings of the hills, And hollow lows responsive from the vales, 200 Whence blending all the sweetened zephyr springs. Meantime refracted from yon eastern cloud, Bestriding earth, the grand ethereal bow Shoots up immense ; and every hue unfolds, In fair proportion, running from the red, 205 To where the violet fades into the sky. Here, awful Newton ! the dissolving clouds Form, fronting on the sun, thy showery prism ; And to the sage-instructed eye unfold The various twine of light, by thee disclos'd 210 From the white mingling maze. Not so the boy ; He wondering views the bright enchantment bend, Delightful, o'er the radiant fields, and runs 12 SPRING. The Season described as it afFects To catch the falling glory ; but amaz'd Beholds th' amusive arch before him fly, 215 Then vanish quite away. Still night succeeds ; A softened shade, and saturated earth Awaits the morning-beam ; to give to light Raised thro' ten thousand different plastic tubes, The balmy treasures of the former day. 220 Then spring the living herbs, profusely wild, O'er all the deep-green earth, beyond the power Of botanist to number up their tribes : Whether he steals along the lonely dale, In silent search ; or thro' the forest, rank 225 With what the dull incurious weeds account, Bursts his blind way ; or climbs the mountain-rock, Fir'd by the nodding verdure of its brow. With such a liberal hand has Nature flung Their seeds abroad, blown them about in winds, 230 Innumerous mix'd them with the nursing mould, The moistening current, and prolific rain. But who their virtues can declare ? who pierce, With vision pure, into these secret stores Of health, and life, and joy ? the food of Man, 235 While yet he liv'd in innocence, and told A length of golden years ; unflesh'd in blood, A stranger to the savage arts of life, SPRING. 13 the various Parts of Nature. Death, rapine, carnage, surfeit, and disease ; The lord, and not the tyrant, of the world. 240 The first fresh dawn then wak'd the gladdened race Of uncorrupted Man, nor blush'd to see The sluggard sleep beneath its sacred beam ; For their light slumbers gently fum'd away ; And up they rose as vigorous as the sun, 245 Or to the culture of the willing glebe, Or to the cheerful tendance of the flock. Meantime the song went round ; and dance and sport, Wisdom and friendly talk, successive, stole Their hours away. While in the rosy vale 250 Love breath'd his infant sighs, from anguish free, And full replete with bliss ; save the sweet pain, That, inly thrilling, but exalts it more. Nor yet injurious act, nor surly deed, Was known among those happy sons of Heaven ; 255 For reason and benevolence were law. Harmonious Nature too look'd smiling on ; Clear shone the skies, cool'd with eternal gales, And balmy spirit all. The youthful sun Shot his best rays, and still the gracious clouds 260 Drop'cl fatness down \ as o'er the swelling mead, The herds and flocks, commixing, play'd secure. This when, emergent from the gloomy wood, 14 SPRING. The Season described as it affects The glaring lion saw, his horrid heart Was meekened, and he join'd his sullen joy ; 265 For music held the whole in perfect peace ; Soft sigh'd the flute ; the tender voice was heard, Warbling the varied heart ; the woodlands round Apply'd their quire ; and winds and waters flow'd In consonance. Such were those prime of days. 270 But now those white unblemish'd manners, whence The fabling poets took their golden age, Are found no more amid these iron times, These dregs of life ! Now the distemper'd mind Has lost that concord of harmonious powers, 275 Which forms the soul of happiness ; and all Is off the poise within : the passions all Have burst their bounds ; and reason half extinct, . Or impotent, or else approving, sees The foul disorder. Senseless, and deform'd, 280 Convulsive anger storms at large ; or pale, And silent, settles into fell revenge. Base envy withers at another's joy, And hates that excellence it cannot reach. Desponding fear, of feeble fancies full, 285 Weak and unmanly, loosens every power. Ev'n love itself is bitterness of soul, A pensive anguish pining at the heart \ SPRING. 15 the various Parts of Nature. Or, sunk to sordid interest, feels no more That noble wish, that never-cloy'd desire, 290 Which;, selfish joy disdaining, seeks alone To bless the dearer object of its flame. Hope sickens with extravagance ; and grief, Of life impatient, into madness swells, Or in dead silence wastes the weeping hours. 295 These, and a thousand mixt emotions more, From ever-changing views of good and ill, Form'd infinitely various, vex the mind With endless storm : whence, deeply rankling, grows The partial thought, a listless unconcern, 300 Cold, and averting from our neighbour's good ; Then dark disgust, and hatred, winding wiles, Coward deceit, and ruffian violence : At last, extinct each social feeling, fell And joyless inhumanity pervades 305 And petrifies the heart. Nature disturbs Is deem'd, vindictive, to have chang'd her course. Hence, in old dusky time, a deluge came ; When the deep-cleft disparting orb, that arch'd The central waters round, impetuous rush'd, 310 With universal burst, into the gulph ; And o'er the high-pil'd hills of fractur'd earth Wide dasVd the waves, in undulation vast > 16 SPRING. The Season described as it affects Till, from the centre to the streaming clouds, A shoreless ocean tumbled round the globe. 315 The Seasons since have, with severer sway, Oppress'd a broken world : the Winter keen Shook forth his waste of snows ; and Summer shot His pestilential heats. Great Spring, before, Green'd all the year; and fruits and blossoms blush 'd, In social sweetness, on the self-same bough. 321 Pure was the temperate air ; an even calm Perpetual reign'd, save what the zephyrs bland Breath'd o'er the blue expanse ; for then nor storms Were taught to blow, nor hurricanes to rage -, 325 Sound slept the waters ; no sulphureous glooms Swell J d in the sky, and sent the lightning forth ; While sickly damps, and cold autumnal fogs, Hung not, relaxing, on the springs of life. But now, of turbid elements the sport, 330 From clear to cloudy tost, from hot to cold, And dry to moist, with inward-eating change, Our drooping days are dwindled down to nought, Their period finish'd ere 't is well begun. And yet the wholesome herb neglected dies ; 335 Tho' with the pure exhilarating soul Of nutriment and health, and vital powers, Beyond the search of art, 't is copious blest. SPRING. 17 the various Parts of Nature. For, with hot ravine fir'd, ensanguin'd Man Is now become the lion of the plain, 340 And worse. The wolf, who from the nightly fold Fierce-drags the bleating prey, ne'er drunk her milk Nor wore her warming fleece : nor has the steer, At whose strong chest the deadly tyger hangs, E'er plow'd for him. They too are temper'd high, 345 With hunger stung, and wild necessity ; Nor lodges pity in their shaggy breast. But Man, whom Nature form'd of milder clay, With every kind emotion in his heart, And taught alone to weep ; while from her lap 350 She pours ten thousand delicacies, herbs, And fruits, as numerous as the drops of rain Or beams that gave them birth : shall he, fair form ! Who wears sweet smiles, and looks erect on Heaven, E'er stoop to mingle with the prowling herd, 355 And dip his tongue in gore ? The beast of prey, Blood-stain'd, deserves to bleed : but you, ye flocks, What have ye done ? ye peaceful people, what, To merit death ? You, who have given us milk In luscious streams, and lent us your own coat 360 Against the winter's cold. And the plain ox, That harmless, honest, guileless animal, In what has he offended ? he, whose toil, 18 SPRING. The Season described as it affects Patient and ever ready, clothes the land With all the pomp of harvest ; shall he bleed, 365 And struggling groan beneath the cruel hands Ev'n of the clown he feeds ? and that, perhaps, To swell the riot of th' autumnal feast, Won by his labour ? Thus the feeling heart Would tenderly suggest : but 't is enough, 370 In this late age, adventurous, to have touch'd Light on the numbers of the Samian sage. High Heaven forbids the bold presumptuous strain, Whose wisest will has fix'd us in a state That must not yet to pure perfection rise. 375 Now when the first foul torrent of the brooks, Swell'd with the vernal rains, is ebb'd away ; And, whitening, down their mossy-tinctur'd stream Descends the billowy foam : now is the time, While yet the dark-brown water aids the guile, 380 To tempt the trout. The well-dissembled fly, The rod fine-tapering with elastic spring, Snatch'd from the hoary steed the floating line, And all thy slender watry stores prepare. But let not on thy hook the tortur'd worm, 385 Convulsive, twist in agonizing folds ; Which, by rapacious hunger swallow'd deep, Gives, as you tear it from the bleeding breast SPRING. 19 the various Parts of Nature. Of the weak helpless uncomplaining wretch, Harsh pain and horror to the tender hand. 390 When with his lively ray the potent sun Has pierc'd the streams, and rous'd the finny race, Then, issuing cheerful, to thy sport repair -> Chief should the western breezes curling play, And light o'er ether bear the shadowy clouds. 395 High to their fount, this day, amid the hills, And woodlands warbling round, trace up the brooks; The next, pursue their rocky-channel'd maze, Down to the river, in whose ample wave Their little naiads love to sport at large. 400 Just in the dubious point, where with the pool Is mix'd the trembling stream, or where it boils Around the stone, or from the hollow'd bank Reverted plays in undulating flow, There throw, nice-judging, the delusive fly ; 405 And as you lead it round in artful curve, With eye attentive mark the springing game. Strait as above the surface of the flood They wanton rise, or urg'd by hunger leap, Then fix, with gentle twitch, the barbed hook : 410 Some lightly tossing to the grassy bank, And to the shelving shore slow-dragging some, With various hand proportion^ to their force. 20 SPRING. The Season described as it affect; If yet too young, and easily deceiv'd, A worthless prey scarce bends your pliant rod ; 415 Him, piteous of his youth and the short space He has enjoy'd the vital light of Heaven, Soft disengage ; and back into the stream The speckled captive throw. But should you lure From his dark haunt, beneath the tangled roots 420 Of pendent trees, the monarch of the brook, Behoves you then to ply your finest art. Long time he, following cautious, scans the fly ; And oft attempts to seize it, but as oft The dimpled water speaks his jealous fear. 425 At last, while haply o'er the shaded sun Passes a cloud, he desperate takes the death, With sullen plunge. At once he darts along, Deep struck, and runs out all the lengthened line ; Then seeks the farthest ooze, the sheltering weed, 430 The cavern'd bank, his old secure abode ; And flies aloft, and flounces round the pool, Indignant of the guile. With yielding hand, That feels him still, yet to his furious course Gives way, you, now retiring, following now 435 Across the stream, exhaust his idle rage : Till floating broad upon his breathless side, And to his fate abandon'd, to the shore SPRING. 21 the various Parts of Nature. You gaily drag your unresisting prize. 439 Thus pass the temperate hours : but when the sun Shakes from his noon-day throne the scattering clouds, Even shooting listless languor thro' the deeps ; Then seek the bank where flowering elders crowd, Where scatter'd wild the lily of the vale Its balmy essence breathes, where cowslips hang 445 The dewy head, where purple violets lurk, With all the lowly children of the shade : Or lie reclin'd beneath yon spreading ash, Hung o'er the steep ; whence, borne on liquid wing, The sounding culver shoots; or where the hawk, 450 High, in the beetling cliff, his aerie builds. There let the classic page thy fancy lead Thro' rural scenes ; such as the Mantuan swain Paints in the matchless harmony of song. Or catch thyself the landskip, gliding swift 455 Athwart imagination's vivid eye : Or by the vocal woods and waters lull'd, And lost in lonely musing, in the dream, Confus'd, of careless solitude, where mix Ten thousand wandering images of things, 460 Soothe every gust of passion into peace ; All but the swellings of the softened heart, That waken, not disturb, the tranquil mind. 22 SPRING. Influence of the Season on Vegetables. Behold yon breathing prospect bids the muse Throw all her beauty forth. But who can paint 465 Like Nature ? Can imagination boast, Amid its gay creation, hues like her's ? Or can it mix them with that matchless skill, And lose them in each other, as appears In every bud that blows ? If fancy then 470 Unequal fails beneath the pleasing task, Ah what shall language do ? ah where find words Ting'd with so many colours ; and whose power, To life approaching, may perfume my lays With that fine oil, those aromatic gales, 475 That inexhaustive flow continual round ? Yet, tho* successless, 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 song ! 480 Form'd by the Graces, loveliness itself ! Come with those downcast eyes, sedate and sweet, Those looks demure, that deeply pierce the soul, Where, with the light of thoughtful reason mix'd, Shines lively fancy and the feeling heart : 485 Oh come ! and while the rosy-footed May Steals blushing on, together let us tread The morning-dews, and gather in their prime SPRING. 23 Influence of the Season on Vegetables. Fresh-blooming flowers, to grace thy braided hair, And thy lov'd bosom that improves their sweets. 490 See, where the winding vale its lavish stores, Irriguous, spreads. See, how the lily drinks The latent rill, scarce oozing thro' the grass, Of growth luxuriant ; or the humid bank, In fair profusion decks. Long let us walk, 495 Where the breeze blows from yon extended field Of blossom'd beans. Arabia cannot boast A fuller gale of joy, than, liberal, thence Breathes thro* the sense, and takes the ravish'd soul. Nor is the mead unworthy of thy foot, 500 Full of fresh verdure, and unnumber'd flowers, The negligence of Nature, wide, and wild ; Where, undisguis'd by mimic Art, she spreads Unbounded beauty to the roving eye. Here their delicious task the fervent bees, 505 In swarming millions, tend : around, athwart, Thro' the soft air, the busy nations fly ; Cling to the. bud, and, with inserted tube, Suck its pure essence, its ethereal soul ; And oft, with bolder wing, they soaring dare 510 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 24 SPRING Influence of the Season on Vegetables. Its vistas opens, and its alleys green. Snatch'd thro' the verdant maze, the hurried eye 515 Distracted wanders ; now the bowery walk Of covert close, where scarce a speck of day Falls on the lengthened gloom, protracted sweeps : Now meets the bending sky ; the river now Dimpling along, the breezy ruffled lake, 520 The forest darkening round, the glittering spire, Th' ethereal mountain, and the distant main. But why so far excursive ? when at hand, Along these blushing borders, bright with dew, And in yon mingled wilderness of flowers, 525 Fair-handed Spring unbosoms every grace ; Throws out the snow-drop, and the crocus first ; The daisy, primrose, violet darkly blue, And polyanthus of unnumber'd dies ; The yellow wall-flower, stain'd with iron brown; 530 And lavish stock that scents the garden round : From the soft wing of vernal breezes shed, Anemonies ; auriculas, enrich 'd With shining meal o'er all their velvet leaves ; And full ranunculas, of glowing red. 535 Then comes the tulip-race, where Beauty plays Her idle freaks ; from family dirfus'd To family, as flies the father-dust, SPRING. 25 Influence of the Season on Vegetables. The varied colours run ; and while they break On the charm'd eye, th' exulting florist marks, 540 With secret pride, the wonders of his hand. No gradual bloom is wanting ; from the bud, First-born of Spring, to Summer's musky tribes : Nor hyacinths, of purest virgin white, Low-bent, and blushing inward ; nor jonquils, 545 Of potent fragrance ; nor Narcissus fair, As o'er the fabled fountain hanging still ; Nor broad carnations, nor gay-spotted pinks ; Nor, shower'd from every bush, the damask-rose. Infinite numbers, delicacies, smells, 550 With hues on hues expression cannot paint, The breath of Nature, and her endless bloom. Hail, Source of Being ! Universal Soul Of heaven and earth ! Essential Presence, hail ! To Thee I bend the knee; to Thee my thoughts, 555 Continual, climb ; who, with a master-hand, Hast 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 : 560 By Thee dispos'd into congenial soils, Stands each attractive plant, and sucks, and swells The juicy tide ; a twining mass of tubes. 26 SPRING. Influence of the Season on Animals. At Thy command the vernal sun awakes The torpid sap, detruded to the root 565 By wintry winds ; that now in fluent dance, And lively fermentation, mounting, spreads All this innumerous-colour'd scene of things. As rising from the vegetable world My theme ascends, with equal wing ascend 570 My panting Muse ! and hark, how loud the woods Invite you forth in all your gayest trim. Lend me your song, ye nightingales ! oh pour The mazy-running soul of melody Into my varied verse; while I deduce, 575 From the first note the hollow cuckoo sings, The symphony of Spring ; and touch a theme Unknown to fame, the passion of the groves. When first the soul of love is sent abroad, Warm thro' the vital air, and on the heart 580 Harmonious seizes ; 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 sooner grows The soft infusion prevalent, and wide, 585 Than, all alive, at once their joy o'erflows In music unconfin'd. Up-springs the lark, ShruTd-voic'd, and loud, the messenger of morn i SPRING. 27 Influence of the Season on Animals. Ere yet the shadows fly, he mounted sings Amid the dawning clouds, and from their haunts 590 Calls up the tuneful nations. Every copse 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, 595 And wood-lark, o'er the kind-contending throng Superior heard, run thro' the sweetest length Of notes ; when listening Philomela deigns To let them joy, and purposes, in thought Elate, to make her night excel their day. 600 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 profusely silent. Join'd to these, Innumerous songsters, in the freshening shade 605 Of new-sprung leaves, their modulation mix Mellifluous. The jay, the rook, the daw, And each harsh pipe, discordant heard alone, Aid the full concert : while the stock-dove breathes A melancholy murmur thro' the whole. 610 'Tis love creates their melody, and all This waste of music is the voice of love •> That ev'n to birds, and beasts, the tender arts 28 SPRING. Influence of the Season on Animals. Of pleasing teaches. Hence the glossy kind Try every winning way inventive love 615 Can dictate ; and in courtship to their mates Pour forth their little souls. First, wide around, With distant awe, in airy rings they rove ; Endeavouring by a thousand tricks to catch The cunning, conscious, half-averted glance Of their regardless charmer. Should she seem Softening the least approvance to bestow, * Their colours burnish, and by hope inspir'd, They brisk advance ; then on a sudden struck, Retire disorder'd ; then again approach ; 625 In fond rotation spread the spotted wing, And shiver every feather with desire. Connubial leagues agreed, to the deep woods They haste away, all as their fancy leads, Pleasure, or food, or secret safety prompts ; 630 That Nature's great command may be obey'd : Nor all the sweet sensations they perceive Indulg'd in vain. Some to the holly-hedge Nestling repair, and to the thicket some ; Some to the rude protection of the thorn 635 Commit their feeble offspring : the cleft tree Offers its kind concealment to a few ; Their food its insects, and its moss their nests. SPRING. 29 Influence of the Season en Animals. Others apart far in the grassy dale, Or roughening waste, their humble texture weave. 640 But most in woodland solitudes delight ; In unfrequented glooms, or shaggy banks, Steep, and divided by a babbling brook, Whose murmurs soothe them all the live-long day, When by kind duty fix'd. Among the roots 645 Of hazel, pendent o'er the plaintive stream, They frame the first foundation of their domes ; Dry sprigs of trees, in artful fabric laid, And bound with clay together. Now 't is nought But restless hurry thro' the busy air, 650 Beat by unnumber'd wings. The swallow sweeps The slimy 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 straw : till soft and warm, Clean, and complete, their habitation grows. As thus the patient dam assiduous sits, Not to be tempted from her tender task, Or by sharp hunger, or by smooth delight, 660 Tho' the whole loosened Spring around her blows ; Her sympathizing lover takes his stand High on th' opponent bank, and ceaseless sings 30 SPRING. Influence of the Season on Animals. The tedious time away ; or else supplies Her place a moment, while she sudden flits 665 To pick the scanty meal. Th' appointed time With pious toil fulfilPd, the callow young, Warm'd and expanded into perfect life, Their brittle bondage break ; and come to light, A helpless family demanding food 670 With constant clamour. O what passions then, What melting sentiments of kindly care, On the new parents seize ! away they fly Affectionate, and undesiring bear The most delicious morsel to their young ; 675 Which equally distributed, again The search begins. Even so a gentle pair, By fortune sunk, but form'd of generous mould, And charm'd with cares beyond the vulgar breast ; In some lone cot amid the distant woods, 680 Sustain'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 inspir'd, 685 Gives instant courage to the fearful race, And to the simple, art. With stealthy wing, Should some rude foot their woody haunts molest, SPRING. 31 Influence of the Season on Animals. Amid a neighbouring bush they silent drop, And whirring thence, as if alarm'd, deceive 690 Th' unfeeling school-boy. Hence, around the head Of wandering swain, the white-wing'd plover wheels Her sounding flight ; and then directly on In long excursion skims the level lawn, To tempt him from her nest. The wild-duck, hence, O'er the rough moss, and o'er the trackless waste 696 The heath-hen flutters, pious fraud ! to lead The hot-pursuing spaniel far astray. Be not the Muse asham'd, here to bemoan Her brothers of the grove, by tyrant Man 700 Inhuman caught, and in the narrow cage From liberty confin'd, and boundless air. Dull are the pretty slaves, their plumage dull, Ragged, and all its brightening lustre lost ; Nor is that sprightly wildness in their notes, 705 Which, clear and vigorous, warbles from the beech. Oh then, ye friends of love and love-taught song, Spare the soft tribes, this barbarous art forbear ; If on your bosom innocence can win, Music engage, or piety persuade. 710 But let not chief the nightingale lament Her ruin'd care, too delicately fram'd To brook the harsh confinement of the cage. 32 SPRING. Influence of the Season on Animals. Oft when, returning with her loaded bill, Th' astonish'd mother finds a vacant nest, 715 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 despair, she sings 720 Her sorrows thro* the night ; and, on the bough, Sole-sitting, still at every dying fall Takes up again her lamentable strain Of winding woe ; till wide around the woods Sigh to her song, and with her wail resound. 725 But now the feather'd youth their former bounds, Ardent, disdain ; and weighing oft their wings, Demand the free possession of the sky : This one glad office more, and then dissolves Parental love at once, now needless grown. 730 Unlavish Wisdom never works in vain. 'Tis on some evening, sunny, grateful, mild, When nought but balm is breathing thro* the woods, With yellow lustre bright, that the new tribes Visit the spacious heavens, and look abroad 735 On Nature's common, far as they can see, Or wing, their range and pasture. O'er the boughs Dancing about, still at the giddy verge SPRING. Influence of the Season on Animals. Their resolution fails ; their pinions still, In loose libration stretch'd, to trust the void 740 Trembling refuse : till down before them fly The parent-guides, and chide, exhort, command, Or push them off* The surging air receives Its plumy burden ; and their self-taught wings Winnow the waving element. On ground 745 Alighted, bolder up again they lead, Farther and farther on, the lengthening flight; 'Till vanish'd every fear, and every power Rous'd into life and action, light in air TrT acquitted parents see their soaring race, 750 And once rejoicing never know them more. High from the summit of a craggy cliff, Hung o'er the deep, such as amazing frowns On utmost Kilda's shore ; whose lonely race Resign the setting sun to Indian worlds; 755 The royal eagle draws his vigorous young, Strong-pounc'd, and ardent with paternal fire ; Now fit to raise a kingdom of their own, He drives them from his fort, the towering seat, For ages, of his empire ; which, in peace, 760 Unstain'd he holds, while many a league to sea He wings his course, and preys in distant isles. Should I my steps turn to the rural seat, i> 34 SPRING. Influence of the Season on Animals. Whose lofty elms, and venerable oaks, Invite the rook ; who high amid the boughs, 765 In early Spring, his airy city builds, 4ind ceaseless caws amusive ; there, well-pleas'd, I might the various polity survey Of the mix'd household kind. The careful hen Calls all her chirping family around, 770 Fed and defended by the fearless cock ; Whose breast with ardour flames, as on he walks Graceful, and crows defiance. In the pond, The finely-checker'd duck before her train, Rows garrulous. The stately-sailing swan Gives out his snowy plumage to the gale ; And, arching proud his neck, with oary feet Bears forward fierce, and guards his osier-isle, Protective of his young. The turkey nigh, Loud-threatening,reddens; while the peacock spreads His every-colour'd glory to the sun, 781 And swims in radiant majesty along. O'er the whole homely scene, the cooing dove rv Flies thick in amorous chase, and wanton rolls The glancing eye, and turns the changeful neck. 785 While thus the gentle tenants of the shade Indulge their purer loves, the rougher world Of brutes, below, rush furious into flame, SPRING. 35 Influence of the Season on Animals. And fierce desire. Thro* all his lusty veins The bull, deep-scorch'd, the raging passion feels. 790 Of pasture sick, and negligent of food, Scarce seen, he wades among the yellow broom, While o'er his ample sides the rambling sprays Luxuriant shoot ; or thro* the mazy wood Dejected wanders ; nor th' inticing bud 795 Crops, tho' it presses on his careless sense. And oft, in jealous mad'ning fancy wrapt, He seeks the fight ; and, idly-butting, feigns His rival gor'd in every knotty trunk. Him should he meet, the bellowing war begins : 800 Their eyes flash fury ; to the hollow'd earth, Whence the sand flies, they mutter bloody deeds, And groaning deep, th' impetuous battle mix : While the fair heifer, balmy-breathing, near, Stands kindling up their rage. The trembling steed, With this hot impulse seiz'd in every nerve, 806 Nor heeds the rein, nor hears the sounding thong : 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 \ 810 O'er rocks, and woods, and craggy mountains flies ; And, neighing, on the aerial summit takes Th' exciting gale ; then, steep-descending, cleaves 36 SPRING, Influence of the Season on Animals. The headlong torrents foaming down the hills, Even where the madness of the straiten'd stream 8 1 5 Turns in black eddies round ; such is the force With which 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 rous'd, 820 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 sublim'd, They roam, amid the fury of their heart, 825 The far-resounding waste in fiercer bands, And growl their horrid loves. But this the theme I sing, enraptur'd, to the British Fair, Forbids, and leads me to the mountain-brow, Where sits the shepherd on the grassy turf, 830 Inhaling, healthful, the descending sun. Around him feeds his many-bleating flock, Of various cadence ; and his sportive lambs, This way and that convolv'd, in friskful glee, Their frolics play. And now the sprightly race 835 Invites them forth ; when swift, the signal given, They start away, and sweep the massy mound That runs around the hill ; the rampart once SPRING. 37 Influence of the Season on Animals. Of iron war, in ancient barbarous times, When disunited Britain ever bled, 840 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 ! 845 What is this mighty Breath, ye sages, say, That, in a powerful language, felt not heard, Instructs the fowls of heaven ! and thro* their breast These arts of love diffuses ? What, but God ? Inspiring God ! who boundless Spirit all, 850 And unremitting Energy, pervades, Adjusts, sustains, and agitates the whole. He ceaseless works alone ; and yet alone Seems not to work : with such perfection fram'd Is this complex stupendous scheme of things. 855 But, thp' conceal'd, to every purer eye Th' 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 860 The brute creation to this finer thought, And annual melts their undesigning hearts Profusely thus in tenderness and joy. 38 SPRING. Effects on Man. Still let my song a nobler note assume, And sing th' infusive force of Spring on Man ; 865 When heaven and earth, as if contending, vie To raise his being, and serene his 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 870 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 yourselves ; away ! But come, ye generous minds, in whose wide thought, Of all his works, Creative Bounty burns 876 With warmest beam ; and on your open front And liberal eye, sits, from his dark retreat Inviting modest want. Nor, till invok'd, Can restless goodness wait ; your active search 880 Leaves no cold wintry corner unexplor'd ; 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 885 Descend in gladsome plenty o'er the world ; And the sun sheds his kindest rays for you, Ye flower of human race ! In these green days, SPRING. 39 Beauties of Hagley. Reviving Sickness lifts her languid head ; Life flows afresh ; and young-ey'd Health exalts 890 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. 895 By swift degrees the love of Nature works, And warms the bosom ; till at last sublim'd To rapture, and enthusiastic heat, We feel the present Deity, and taste The joy of God to see a happy world ! 900 These are the sacred feelings of thy heart, Thy heart inform'd by reason's purer ray, O Lyttelton, the friend ! thy passions thus And meditations vary, as at large, Courting the Muse, thro' Hagley Park thou stray'st; Thy British Tempe ! There along the dale, 906 With woods o'erhung, 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 lengthened vista thro' the trees, 910 You silent steal ; or sit beneath the shade Of solemn oaks, that tuft the swelling mounts Thrown graceful round by Nature's careless hand, 40 SPRING. Beauties of Hagley. And pensive listen to the various voice Of rural peace: the herds, and flocks, the birds, 915 The hollow-whispering breeze, the plaint of rills, That, purling down amid the twisted roots Which creep around, their dewy murmurs shake On the sooth'd ear. From these abstracted, oft You wander thro' the philosophic world ; 920 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, 925 And honest zeal unwarp'd by party-rage, Britannia's weal ; how from the venal gulph To raise her virtue, and her arts revive. Or, turning thence thy view, these graver thoughts The Muses charm: while, with sure taste refin'd, 930 You draw th' inspiring breath of ancient song ; 'Till nobly rises, emulous, thy own. Perhaps thy lov'd Lucinda shares thy walk, With soul to thine attun'd. Then Nature all W T ears to the lover's eye a look of love ; 935 And all the tumult of a guilty world, Tost by ungenerous passions, sinks away. The tender heart is animated peace ; SPRING. 41 Advice to the young Fair. And as it pours its copious treasures forth, In varied converse, softening every theme, 940 You, frequent-pausing, turn, an'J from her eyes, Where meekened sense, and amiable grace, And lively sweetness dwell, enraptured, drink That nameless spirit of ethereal joy, Unutterable happiness ! which love, 945 Alone, bestows, and on a favour'd few. Meantime you gain the height, 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, 950 And villages embosom'd soft in trees, And spiry towns by surging columns mark'd Of household smoke, your eye excursive roams : Wide-stretching from the Hall, in whose kind haunt The hospitable Genius lingers still, 955 To where the broken landskip, by degrees, Ascending, roughens into rigid hills; O'er which the Cambrian mountains, like far clouds That skirt the blue horizon, dusky rise. Flush'd by the spirit of the genial year, 960 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; 42 SPRING. Advice to young Men respecting Love. The shining moisture swells into her eyes, In brighter flow ; her wishing bosom heaves, 965 With palpitations wild 5 kind tumults seize Her veins, and all her yielding soul is love. From the keen gaze her lover turns away, Full of the dear ecstatic power, and sick With sighing languishment. Ah then, ye fair ! 970 Be greatly cautious of your sliding hearts: Dare not th* infectious sigh ; the pleading look, Downcast, and low, in meek submission drest, But full of guile. Let not the fervent tongue, Prompt to deceive, with adulation smooth, 975 Gain on your purpos'd 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 th' aspiring youth beware of love, 930 Of the smooth glance beware ; for 't is 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, Wrapt in gay visions of unreal bliss, 985 Still paints th' illusive form ; the kindling grace ; Th* inticing ©mile ; the modest-seeming eye, Beneath whose beauteous beams, belying Heaven, SPRING. A Lover described. Lurk searchless cunning, cruelty, and death : And still, false- warbling in his cheated ear, 990 Her syren voice, enchanting, draws him on To guileful shores, and meads of fatal joy. Even present, in the very lap of love Inglorious laid ; while music flows around, Perfumes, and oils, and wine, and wanton hours ; Amid the roses fierce Repentance rears 996 Her snaky crest : a quick-returning pang Shoots thro* the conscious heart ; where honour still, And great design, against th' oppressive load Of luxury, by fits, impatient heave. 1000 Bur absent, what fantastic woes arous'd, Rage in each thought, by restless musing fed, Chill the warm cheek, and blast the bloom of life ! Neglected fortune flies ; and sliding swift, Prone into ruin, fall his scorn'd affairs. 1005 'lis nought but gloom around : the darkened sun Loses his light : the rosy-bosom'd Spring To weeping fancy pines ; and yon bright arch. Contracted, bends into a dusky vault. All Nature fades extinct ; and she alone 1010 Heard, felt, and seen, possesses every thought, Fills every sense, and pants in every vein. Books are but formal dulness, tedious friends ; 44 SPRING. A Lover described. And sad amid the social band he sits, Lonely, and unattentive. From his tongue 1015 Th' unfinish'd period falls : while borne away On swelling thought, his wafted spirit flies To the vain bosom of his distant fair ; And leaves the semblance of a lover, fix'd In melancholy site, with head declin'd, 1020 And love-dejected eyes. Sudden he starts, Shook from his tender trance, and restless runs To glimmering shades, and sympathetic glooms ; Where the dun umbrage o'er the falling stream, Romantic, hangs ; there thro' the pensive dusk 1025 Strays, in heart-thrilling meditation lost, Indulging all to love : or on the bank Thrown, amid drooping lilies, swells the breeze With sighs unceasing, and the brook with tears. Thus in soft anguish he consumes the day, 1030 Nor quits his deep retirement, till the Moon Peeps thro* the chambers of the fleecy East, Enlightened by degrees, and in her train Leads on the gentle hours ; then forth he walks, Beneath the trembling languish of her beam, 1035 With softened soul, and wooes the bird of eve To mingle woes with his : or, while the world And all the sons of Care lie hush'd in sleep, y SPRING. 45 A lx>ver described. Associates with the midnight shadows drear ; And, sighing to the lonely taper, pours 1040 His idly-tortur'd heart into the page, Meant for the moving messenger of love ; Where rapture burns on rapture, every line With rising frenzy nYd. But if on bed Delirious flung, sleep from his pillow flies. 1045 All night he tosses, nor the balmy power In any posture finds ; till the grey morn Lifts her pale lustre on the paler wretch, Exanimate by love : and then perhaps Exhausted Nature sinks awhile to rest, 1050 Still interrupted by distracted dreams, That o'er the sick imagination rise, And in black colours paint the mimic scene. Oft with th* enchantress of his soul he talks ; Sometimes in crowds distress'd ; or if retir'd 1055 To secret winding flower-enwoven bowers, Far from the dull impertinence of Man ; Just as he, credulous, his endless cares Begins to lose in blind oblivious love, Snatch'd from her yielded hand, he knows not how, Thro* forests huge, and long untravel'd heaths 1061 With desolation brown, he wanders waste, In night and tempest wrapt ; or shrinks aghast, 46 SPRING. Effects of Jealousy in Youth. Back, from the bending precipice ; or wades The turbid stream below, and strives to reach 1065 The farther shore ; where succourless and sad, She with extended arms his aid implores ; But strives in vain ; borne by th' outrageous flood To distance down, he rides the ridgy wave, Or whelm'd beneath the boiling eddy sinks. 1070 These are the charming agonies of love, Whose misery delights. But thro' the heart Should jealousy its venom once diffuse, 'Tis then delightful misery no more ; But agony unmix'd, incessant gall, 1075 Corroding every thought, and blasting all Love's paradise. Ye fairy prospects, then, Ye beds of roses, and ye bowers of joy, Farewell ! Ye gleamings of departed peace, Shine out your last ! the yellow-tinging plague 1080 Internal vision taints, and in a night Of livid gloom imagination wraps. Ah then, instead of love-enlivened cheeks, Of sunny features, and of ardent eyes With flowing rapture bright, dark looks succeed, 108 5 Suffus'd and glaring with untender fire ; A clouded aspect, and a burning cheek, Where the whole poison'd soul, malignant, sits, SPRING. 47 True Pleasures of Marriage. And frightens love away. Ten thousand fears Invented wild, ten thousand frantic views 1090 Of horrid rivals, hanging on the charms For which he melts in fondness, eat him up With fervent anguish, and consuming rage. In vain reproaches lend their idle aid, Deceitful pride, and resolution frail, 1095 Giving false peace a moment. Fancy pours, Afresh, her beauties on his busy thought, Her first endearments twining round the soul, With all the witchcraft of ensnaring love. Straight the fierce storm involves his mind anew, 1 100 Flames thro' the nerves, and boils along the veins ; While anxious doubt distracts the tOrtur'd heart : For ev ri the sad assurance of his fears Were ease to what he feels. Thus the warm youth, Whom love deludes into his thorny wilds, 1 105 Thro' flowery-tempting paths, or leads a life Of fevered rapture, or of cruel care ; His brightest flames extinguished all, and all His lively moments running down to waste. But happy they ! the happiest of their kind ! 1110 Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate, Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend. 'Tis not the coarser tie of human laws, 48 SPRING. True Pleasures of Marriage. Unnatural oft, and foreign to the mind, That binds their peace, but harmony itself, 1115 Attuning all their passions into love ; Where friendship full-exerts her softest power, Perfect esteem enlivened by desire Ineffable, and sympathy of soul ; Thought meeting thought, and will preventing will, With boundless confidence: for nought but love 1121 Can answer love, and render bliss secure. Let him, ungenerous, who, alone intent To bless himself, from sordid parents buys The loathing virgin, in eternal care, 1 125 Well-merited, consume his nights and days ; Let barbarous nations, whose inhuman love 1 Is wild desire, fierce as the suns they feel ; Let Eastern tyrants, from the light of Heaven Seclude their bosom-slaves, meanly possess'd 1130 Of a mere lifeless, violated form ; While those whom love cements in holy faith, And equal transport, free as Nature live, Disdaining fear. What is the world to them ? Its pomp, its pleasure, and its nonsense all ? 1135 W r ho in each other clasp whatever fair High fancy forms, and lavish hearts can wish ; Something than beauty dearer, should they look SPRING. 49 Delights from a rising Offspring. Or on the mind, or mind-illumin'd face ; Truth, goodness, honour, harmony, and love, 1140 The richest bounty of indulgent Heaven. Meantime a smiling offspring rises round, And mingles both their graces. By degrees, The human blossom blows ; and every day, Soft as it rolls along, shows some new charm, 1 145 The father's lustre, and the mother's bloom. Then infant reason grows apace, and calls For the kind hand of an assiduous care. Delightful task ! to rear the tender thought, To teach the young idea how to shoot, 1150 To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind, To breathe th' enlivening spirit, and to fix The generous purpose in the glowing breast. Oh speak the joy ! ye, whom the sudden tear Surprises often, while you look around, 1155 And nothing strikes your eye but sights of bliss, All various Nature pressing on the heart ; An elegant sufficiency, content, Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books, Ease and alternate labour, useful life, 1 160 Progressive virtue, and approving Heaven. These are the matchless joys of virtuous love ; And thus their moments fly. The Seasons thus, E 50 SPRING. Delights from a rising Offspring. As ceaseless round a jarring world they roll, Still find them happy; and consenting Spring 1165 Sheds her own rosy garland on their heads : Till evening comes at last, serene and mild ; When after the long vernal day of life, Enamour'd more, as more remembrance swells With many a proof of recollected love, 1170 Together down they sink in social sleep ; Together freed, their gentle spirits fly To scenes where love and bliss immortal reign. SUMMER. THE ARGUMENT. The subject proposed. Invocation. Address to Mr. Dodington. An in- troductory reflection on the motion of the heavenly bodies ; whence the succession of the seasons. As the face of Nature in this season is almost uniform, the progress of the poem is a description of a summer's day. The dawn. Sun-rising. Hymn to the Sun. Forenoon. Summer in- sects described. Hay-making. Sheep-shearing. Noon-day. A wood- land retreat. Group of herds and flocks. A solemn grove : how it affects a contemplative mind. A cataract, and rude scene. View of Summer in the torrid zone. Storm of thunder and lightning. A tale. The storm over, a serene afternoon. Bathing. Hour of walking. Transition to the prospect of a rich well-cultivated country ; which introduces a panegyric on Great Britain. Sun-set. Evening. Night. Summer meteors. A comet. The whole concluding with the praise of philosophy. MlTSIBORA, .j ,,/./,/// y/.//v/ <"■ BOOK II Inscribed to Mr. Dodington. rROM brightening fields of ether fair disclos'd, Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes, In pride of youth, and felt thro* Nature's depth. He comes attended by the sultry Hours, And ever-fanning Breezes, on his way ; 5 While, from his ardent look, the turning Spring Averts her blushful face ; and earth, and skies, All-smiling, to his hot dominion leaves. Hence, let me haste into the mid-wood shade, Where scarce a sun-beam wanders thro' the gloom; 10 And on the dark-green grass, beside the brink Of haunted stream, that by the roots of oak Rolls o'er the rocky channel, lie at large, And sing the glories of the circling year. 54 SUMMER. Inscribed to Mr. Dodington. Come, Inspiration ! from thy hermit-seat, 15 By mortal seldom found : may Fancy dare, From thy fix'd serious eye, and raptur'd glance Shot on surrounding Heaven, to steal one look Creative of the Poet, every power Exalting to an ecstacy of soul. 20 And thou, my youthful Muse's early friend, In whom the human graces all unite : Pure light of mind, and tenderness of heart; Genius, and wisdom ; the gay social sense, By decency chastis'd ; goodness and wit, 25 In seldom-meeting harmony combined ; Unblemish'd honour, and an active zeal For Britain's glory, Liberty, and Man : O Dodington ! attend my rural song, Stoop to my theme, inspirit every line, 30 And teach me to deserve thy just applause. With what an awful world-revolving power Were first the unwieldy planets launch'd along Th' illimitable void ! Thus to remain, Amid the flux of many thousand years, 35 That oft has swept the toiling race of Men, And all their labour'd monuments away, Firm, unremitting, matchless, in their course ; To the kind-temper'd change of night and day, SUMMER. 55 Inscribed to Mr. Dodington. And of the Seasons ever stealing round, 40 Minutely faithful: such th' all-perfect Hand! That pois'd, impels, and rules the steady whole. When now no more th* alternate Twins are fiYd, And Cancer reddens with the solar blaze, Short is the doubtful empire of the night ; 45 And soon, observant of approaching day, The meek-ey'd Morn appears, mother of dews, At first faint-gleaming in the dappled East : Till far o'er ether spreads the widening glow ; And, from before the lustre of her face, 50 White break the clouds away. With quickened step, Brown Night retires : young Day pours in apace, And opens all the lawny prospect wide. The dripping rock, the mountain's misty top, Swell on the sight, and brighten with the dawn. 55 Blue, thro* the dusk, the smoking currents shine ; And from the bladed field the fearful hare Limps, awkward : while along the forest glade The wild deer trip, and often turning gaze At early passenger. Music awakes 60 The native voice of undissembled joy ; And thick around the woodland hymns arise. Rous'd by the cock, the soon-clad shepherd leaves His mossy cottage, where with Peace he dwells -> 56 SUMMER The Benefit of early rising. And from the crowded fold, in order, drives 65 His flock, to taste the verdure of the morn. Falsely luxurious, will not Man awake ; And, springing from the bed of sloth, enjoy The cool, the fragrant, and the silent hour, To meditation due and sacred song ? 70 For is there aught in sleep can charm the wise ? To lie in dead oblivion, losing half The fleeting moments of too short a life ; Total extinction of th' enlightened soul ! Or else to feverish vanity alive, 75 Wilder'd, and tossing thro' distemper'd dreams ; Who would in such a gloomy state remain Longer than Nature craves ; when every Muse And every blooming pleasure wait without, To bless the wildly-devious morning walk ? 80 But yonder comes the powerful King of Day, Rejoicing in the East. The lessening cloud, The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow Illum'd with fluid gold, his near approach Betoken glad. Lo ! now, apparent all, 85 Aslant the dew-bright earth, and colour'd air, He looks in boundless majesty abroad ; And sheds the shining day, that burnish'd plays On rocks, and hills, and tow'rs, and wand 'ring streams, SUMMER. 57 Address to the Sun. — Its Power on Vegetables. High-gleaming from afar. Prime cheerer Light ! 90 Of all material beings first, and best ! Efflux divine ! Nature's resplendent robe ! Without whose vesting beauty all were wrapt In unessential gloom ; and thou, O Sun ! Soul of surrounding worlds ! in whom best seen 95 Shines out thy Maker ! may I sing of thee ? 'Trs by thy secret, strong, attractive force, As with a chain indissoluble bound, Thy System rolls entire : from the far bourne Of utmost Saturn, wheeling wide his round 100 Of thirty years ; to Mercury, whose disk Can scarce be caught by philosophic eye, Lost in the near effulgence of thy blaze. Informer of the planetary train ! Without whose quickening glance their cumbrous orbs Were brute unlovely mass, inert and dead ; 106 And not, as now, the green abodes of life ! How many forms of being wait on thee, Inhaling spirit ! from th' unfetter'd mind, By thee sublim'd, down to the daily race, 110 The mixing myriads of thy setting beam. The vegetable world is also thine, Parent of Seasons ! who the pomp precede That waits thy throne ; as thro' thy vast domain, 58 SUMMER. The Sun's Power on Vegetables and Minerals. Annual, along the bright ecliptic road, 115 In world-rejoicing state, it moves sublime. Meantime th' expecting nations, circled gay, With all the various tribes of foodful earth, Implore thy bounty, or send grateful up A common hymn : while, round thy beaming car, 120 High-seen, the Seasons lead, in sprightly dance Harmonious knit, the rosy-finger'd Hours; The Zephyrs floating loose ; the timely Rains ; Of bloom ethereal the light-footed Dews ; And softened into joy the surly Storms. 125 These, in successive turn, with lavish hand, Shower every beauty, every fragrance shower, Herbs, flowers, and fruits : till, kindling at thy touch, From land to land is flush'd the vernal year. Nor to the surface of enlivened earth, 130 Graceful with hills and dales, and leafy woods, Her liberal tresses, is thy force confin'd : But, to the bowel'd cavern darting deep, The mineral kinds confess thy mighty power. Effulgent, hence, the veiny marble shines; 135 Hence Labour draws his tools ; hence burnish'd War Gleams on the day ; the nobler works of Peace Hence bless mankind ; and generous Commerce binds The round of nations in a golden chain. SUMMER. 59 The Sun's Power on Minerals. Th* unfruitful rock itself, impregn'd by thee, 1 40 In dark retirement forms the lucid stone. The lively Diamond drinks thy purest rays, Collected light, compact ; that, polish'd bright, And all its native lustre let abroad, Dares, as it sparkles on the fair-one's breast, 145 With vain ambition emulate her eyes. At thee the Ruby lights its deepening glow^ And with a waving radiance inward flames. From thee the Sapphire, solid ether, takes Its hue cerulean ; and of evening tinct, 150 The purple-streaming Amethyst is thine. With thy own smile the yellow Topaz burns, Nor deeper verdure dies the robe of Spring, When first she gives it to the southern gale, Than the green Emerald shows. But, all combin'd, Thick thro' the whitening Opal play thy beams ; 156 Or, flying several from its surface, form A trembling variance of revolving hues, As the site varies in the gazer's hand. The very dead creation, from thy touch, 160 Assumes a mimic life. By thee refin'd, In brighter mazes the relucent stream Plays o'er the mead. The precipice abrupt, Projecting horror on the blackened flood, 60 SUMMER. The Supreme Being described. Softens at thy return. • The desert joys, 165 Wildly, thro' all his melancholy bounds. Rude ruins glitter ; and the briny deep, Seen from some pointed promontory's top, Far to the blue horizon's utmost verge, Restless, reflects a floating gleam. But this, 170 And all the much-transported Muse can sing, Are to thy beauty, dignity, and use, Unequal far ; great delegated source Of light, and life, and grace, and joy below ! How shall I then attempt to sing of Him ! 175 Who, Light Himself, in uncreated light Invested deep, dwells awfully retired From mortal eye, or angel's purer ken ; Whose single smile has, from the first of time, Fill'd, overflowing, all those lamps of Heaven, 180 That beam for ever thro' the boundless sky : But, should he hide his face, th' astonish'd sun, And all th' extinguish'd stars, would loosening reel Wide from their spheres, and Chaos come again. And yet was every faultering tongue of Man, 185 Almighty Father ! silent in thy praise ; Thy works themselves would raise a general voice, Even in the depth of solitary woods By human foot untrod ; proclaim thy power, SUMMER. 61 Effects of the Sun on the Works of Nature. And to the quire celestial Thee resound, 190 Th' eternal cause, support, and end of all. To me be Nature's volume broad-display'd ; And to peruse its all-instructing page, Or, haply catching inspiration thence, Some easy passage, raptur'd, to translate, 195 My sole delight ; as thro* the falling glooms Pensive I stray, or with the rising dawn On Fancy's eagle-wing excursive soar. Now, flaming up the heavens, the potent sun Melts into limpid air the high-rais'd clouds, 200 And morning fogs, that hover'd round the hills In party-colour'd bands ; till wide unveil'd The face of Nature shines, from where earth seems, Far-stretch'd around, to meet the bending sphere. Half in a blush of clust'ring roses lost, 205 Dew-dropping Coolness to the shade retires ; There, on the verdant turf, or flowery bed, By gelid founts and careless rills to muse ; While tyrant Heat, dispreading thro' the sky, With rapid sway, his burning influence darts 210 On Man, and beast, and herb, and tepid stream. Who can unpitying see the flowery race, Shed by the morn, their new-flush'd bloom resign, Before the parching beam ? So fade the fair, 62 SUMMER. Effects of the Sun on the Works of Nature. When fevers revel thro* their azure veins. 215 But one, the lofty follower of the sun, Sad when he sets, shuts up her yellow leaves, Drooping all night ; and, when he warm returns, Points her enamoured bosom to his ray. Home, from his morning task, the swain retreats ; His flock before him stepping to the fold : 221 While the full-udder'd mother lows around The cheerful cottage, then expecting food, The food of innocence, and health ! The daw, The rook, and magpie, to the grey-grown oaks 225 That the calm village in their verdant arms, Sheltering, embrace, direct their lazy flight ; Where on the mingling boughs they sit embower'd, All the hot noon, till cooler hours arise. Faint, underneath, the household fowls convene ; 230 And, in a corner of the buzzing shade, The house-dog, with the vacant greyhound, lies, Out-stretch'd, and sleepy. In his slumbers one Attacks the nightly thief, and one exults O'er hill and dale ; till, wakened by the wasp, 235 They starting snap. Nor shall the Muse disdain To let the little noisy summer-race Live in her lay, and flutter thro' her song : Not mean tho' simple ; to the sun ally'd, SUMMER. 63 Summer Insects. From him they draw their animating fire. 240 Wak'd by his warmer ray, the reptile young Come wing'd abroad ; by the light air upborne, Lighter, and full of soul. From every chink, And secret corner, where they slept away The wintry storms; or rising from their tombs, 245 To higher life ; by myriads, forth at once, Swarming they pour ; of all the vary'd hues Their beauty-beaming parent can disclose. Ten thousand forms ! ten thousand different tribes 1 People the blaze. To sunny waters some 250 By fatal instinct fly ; where on the pool They, sportive, wheel ; or, sailing down the stream. Are snatch'd immediate by the quick-ey'd trout, Or darting salmon. Thro' the green- wood glade Some love to stray; there lodg'd, amus'd and fed, 255 In the fresh leaf. Luxurious, others make The meads their choice, and visit every flower, And every latent herb : for the sweet task, To propagate their kinds, and where to wrap, In what soft beds, their young yet undisclos'd, 260- Employs their tender care. Some to the house, The fold, and dairy, hungry, bend their flight; Sip round the pail, or taste the curdling cheese : Oft, inadvertent, from the milky stream 64 SUMMER. Summer Insects. They meet their fate ; or, weltering in the bowl, 265 With powerless wings around them wrapt, expire. But chief to heedless flies the window proves A constant death ; where, gloomily retir'd, The villain spider lives, cunning, and fierce, Mixture abhorr'd ! Amid a mangled heap 270 Of carcasses, in eager watch he sits, O'erlooking all his v/aving snares around. Near the dire cell the dreadless wanderer oft Passes, as oft the ruffian shows his front ; The prey at last ensnar'd, he dreadful darts, 275 With rapid glide, along the leaning line ; And, fixing in the wretch his cruel fangs, Strikes backward grimly pleas'd : the fluttering wing, And shriller sound, declare extreme distress, And ask the helping hospitable hand. 280 Resounds the living surface of the ground : Nor undelightful is the ceaseless hum, To him who muses thro' the woods at noon ; Or drowsy shepherd, as he lies reclin'd, With half-shut eyes, beneath the floating shade 285 Of willows grey, close-crowding o'er the brook. Gradual, from these what numerous kindsdescend, Evading ev'n the microscopic eye ! Full nature swarms with life ; one wondrous mass / SUMMER. 65 Summer Insects. Of animals, or atoms organiz'd, 290 Waiting the vital Breath, when Parent Heaven Shall bid his spirit blow. The hoary fen, In putrid steams, emits the living cloud Of pestilence. Thro' subterranean cells, Where searching sun-beams scarce can find away, 295 Earth animated heaves. The flowery leaf Wants not its soft inhabitants. Secure, Within its winding citadel, the stone Holds multitudes. But chief the forest-boughs, That dance unnumbered to the playful breeze ; 300 The downy orchard, and the melting pulp Of mellow fruit, the nameless nations feed Of evanescent insects. Where the pool Stands mantled o'er with green, invisible, Amid the floating verdure millions stray. 305 Each liquid too, whether it pierces, soothes, Inflames, refreshes, or exalts the taste, With various forms abounds. Nor is the stream Of purest crystal, nor the lucid air, Tho' one transparent vacancy it seems, 310 Void of their unseen people. These, conceal'd By the kind art of forming Heaven, escape The grosser eye of Man : for, if the worlds In worlds inclos'd should on his senses burst, 66 SUMMER. Summer Insects. From cates ambrosial, and the nectar'd bowl, 3 1 5 He would abhorrent turn ; and in dead night, When silence sleeps o'er all, be stunn'd with noise. Let no presuming impious railer tax Creative Wisdom, as if aught was form'd In vain, or not for admirable ends. 320 Shall little haughty ignorance pronounce His works unwise, of which the smallest part Exceeds the narrow vision of her mind ? As if upon a full-proportion'd dome, On swelling columns heav'd, the pride of art ! 325 A critic-fly, whose feeble ray scarce spreads An inch around, with blind presumption bold, Should dare to tax the structure of the whole. And lives the Man, whose universal eye Has swept at once th' unbounded scheme of things; Marked their dependance so, and firm accord, 331 As with unfaultering accent to conclude That this availeth nought ? Has any seen The mighty chain of beings, lessening down From Infinite Perfection to the brink 335 Of dreary Nothing, desolate abyss ! From which astonish'd thought, recoiling, turns ? Till then alone let zealous praise ascend, And hymns of holy wonder, to that Power, SUMMER. 67 II ay-making. Whose wisdom shines as lovely on our minds, 340 As on our smiling eyes his servant-sun. Thick in yon stream of light, a thousand ways, Upward, and downward, thwarting, and convolv'd, The quivering nations sport ; till, tempest-wing'd, Fierce Winter sweeps them from the face of day. 345 Ev'n so luxurious Men, unheeding, pass An idle summer life in fortune's shine ; A season's glitter ! Thus they flutter on From toy to toy, from vanity to vice ; Till, blown away by death, oblivion comes 350 Behind, and strikes them from the book of life. Now swarms the village o'er the jovial mead : The rustic youth, brown with meridian toil, Healthful and strong ; full as the summer-rose Blown by prevailing suns, the ruddy maid, 355 Half-naked, swelling on the sight, and all Her kindled graces burning o'er her cheek. Even stooping age is here; and infant-hands Trail the long rake, or with the fragrant load O'ercharg'd, amid the kind oppression roll. 360 Wide flies the tedded grain ; all in a row Advancing broad, or wheeling round the field, They spread the breathing harvest to the sun, That throws refreshful round a rural smell : 68 SUMMER. Flock of Sheep. Or, as they rake the green-appearing ground, 365 And drive the dusky wave along the mead, The russet hay-cock rises thick behind, In order gay. While heard from dale to dale, Waking the breeze, resounds the blended voice Of happy labour, love, and social glee. 370 Or rushing thence, in one diffusive band, They drive the troubled flocks, by many a dog Compell'd, to where the mazy-running brook Forms a deep pool ; this bank abrupt and high, And that fair-spreading in a pebbled shore. 37 5 Urg'd to the giddy brink, much is the toil, The clamour much, of men, and boys, and dogs, Ere the soft fearful people to the flood Commit their woolly sides. And oft the swain, On some impatient seizing, hurls them in: 380 Embolden'd then, nor hesitating more, Fast, fast, they plunge amid the flashing wave, And panting labour to the farthest shore. Repeated this, till deep the well-wash'd fleece Has drunk the flood, and from his lively haunt 385 The trout is banish'd by the sordid stream ; Heavy, and dripping, to the breezy brow Slow move the harmless race ; where, as they spread Their swelling treasures to the sunny ray, SUMMER. 6.9 Sheepshearing. Inly disturbed, and wondering what this wild 390 Outrageous tumult means, their loud complaints The country fill ; and, toss'd from rock to rock, Incessant bleatings run around the hills. At last, of snowy white, the gathered flocks Are in the wattled pen innumerous press'd, 395 Head above head : and rang'd in lusty rows The shepherds sit, and whet the sounding shears. The housewife waits to roll her fleecy stores, With all her gay-drest maids attending round. One, chief, in gracious dignity enthron'd, 400 Shines o'er the rest, the past ral queen, and rays Her smiles, sweet-beaming, on her shepherd-king ; While the glad circle round them yield their souls To festive mirth, and wit that knows no gall. Meantime, their joyous task goes on apace : 405 Some mingling stir the melted tar, and some, Deep on the new-shorn vagrant's heaving side, To stamp his master's cipher ready stand; Others th* unwilling wether drag along ; And, glorying in his might, the sturdy boy 410 Holds by th' twisted horns th' indignant ram. Behold where bound, and of its robe bereft, By needy Man, that all-depending lord, How meek, how patient, the mild creature lies ! M SUMMER. Noon-Div Hca: crscnbcd. Whaf in its melancholy face, 415 What dumb complaining innocence appears ! Fear Dot, e gentle tribes, 't is not the knife Of horrid slaughter that is o'er you wav'd ; Nc ain's well-guided shears, having now, to pay his annual care, 420 Borrow'd your fleece, to you a cumbrous load, ::d you bounding to your hills again. A siMPLi Bcene jret hence Britannia sees Her solid grandeur rise : hence she commands TV e : tores of even* brighter clime, 425 Hk the Sun without his rage : Hence, fervent all, with culture, toil, and arts, .lows her land : her dreadful thunder hence the waves sublime ; and now, ev'n now, Impending hangs o'er Gallia's humbled coast ; 430 H^r.:e rnlef the circling deep, and awes the world. Til raging Noon; and, vertical, the Sun Da:: : on the head direct his forceful rays. O'er heaven and earth, far as the ranging eye Can ■ ;ng deluge reigns -, and all 435 From pole to pole is undistinguished blaze. In vain the sight, dejected to the ground, 5 ;ops for relief; thence hot ascending steams I keen reflection pain. Deep to the root SUMMER. 71 Noon-Day Heat described, Of vegetation parch'd, the cleaving fields 440 And slippery lawn an arid hue disclose ; Blast Fancy's bloom, and wither ev'n the soul. Echo no more returns the cheerful sound Of sharpening scythe : the mower sinking heaps O'er him the humid hay, with flowers perfum'd; 445 And scarce a chirping grasshopper is heard Thro' the dumb mead. Distressful Nature pants. The very streams look languid from afar; Or, thro' th' unshelter'd glade, impatient seem To hurl into the covert of the grove. 450 All-conquering Heat ! oh intermit thy wrath; And on my throbbing temples potent thus Beam not so fierce. Incessant still you flow, And still another fervent flood succeeds, Pour'd on the head profuse. In vain I sigh, 455 And restless turn, and look around for Night ; Night is far off; and hotter hours approach. Thrice happy he ! who on the sunless side Of a romantic mountain, forest-crown'd, Beneath the whole collected shade reclines ; 460 Or in the gelid caverns, woodbine-wrought, And fresh-bedew'd with ever-spouting streams, Sits coolly calm ; while all the world without, Unsatisfied, and sick, tosses in noon. 72 SUMMER. Noon-Day Heat described. Emblem instructive of the virtuous Man, 465 Who keeps his temper'd mind serene, and pure ; And every passion aptly harmoniz'd, Amid a jarring world with vice inflam'd. Welcome, ye shades ! ye bowery thickets hail ! Ye lofty pines ! ye venerable oaks ! 470 Ye ashes wild, resounding o'er the steep ! Delicious is your shelter to the soul, As to the hunted hart the sallying spring, Or stream full-flowing, that his swelling sides Laves, as he floats along the herbag'd brink. 475 Cool, thro' the nerves, your pleasing comfort glides , The heart beats glad ; the fresh-expanded eye And ear resume their watch ; the sinews knit ; And life shoots swift thro' all the lightened limbs. Around th' adjoining brook, that purls along 480 The vocal grove, now fretting o'er a rock, Now scarcely moving thro' a reedy pool, Now starting to a sudden stream, and now Gently diffus'd into a limpid plain ; A various group the herds and flocks compose, 485 Rural confusion ! On the grassy bank Some ruminating lie ; while others stand Half in the flood, and often bending sip The circling surface. In the middle droops SUMMER. 73 Shepherd and his Flock. The strong laborious ox, of honest front, 490 Which incompos'd he shakes; and from his sides The troublous insects lashes with his tail, Returning still. Amid his subjects safe, Slumbers the monarch-swain ; his careless arm Thrown round his head, on downy moss sustain'd; 495 Here laid his scrip, with wholesome viands filPd; There, listening every noise, his watchful dog. Light fly his slumbers, if perchance a flight Of angry gad-flies fasten on the herd ; That startling scatters from the shallow brook, 500 In search of lavish stream. Tossing the foam, They scorn the keeper's voice, and scour the plain, Thro* all the bright severity of noon ; While, from their labouring breasts, a hollow moan Proceeding, runs low-bellowing round the hills. 505 Oft in this season too the horse, provok'd, While his big sinews full of spirits sweH ; Trembling with vigour, in the heat of blood, Springs the high fence ; and, o'er the field effus'd, Darts on the gloomy flood, with stedfast eye, 510 And heart estrang'd to fear : his nervous chest, Luxuriant, and erect, the seat of strength, Bears down th' opposing stream : quenchless his thirst -, He takes the river at redoubled draughts; 74 SUMMER. A solemn Grove described. And with wide nostrils, snorting, skims the wave. 515 Still let me pierce into the midnight depth Of yonder grove, of wildest largest growth : That, forming high in air a woodland quire, Nods o'er the mount beneath. At every step, Solemn, and slow, the shadows blacker fall,. 520 And all is awful listening gloom around. These are the haunts of Meditation ; these The scenes where ancient bards th' inspiring breath, Ecstatic, felt ; and, from this world retir'd, Convers'd with angels, and immortal forms, 525 On gracious errands bent : to save the fall Of virtue struggling on the brink of vice ; , In waking whispers, and repeated dreams, To hint pure thought, and warn the favoured soul For future trials fated to prepare ; 530 To prompt the poet, who devoted gives His muse to better themes ; to sooth the pangs Of dying worth, and from the patriot's breast (Backward to mingle in detested war, But foremost when engag'd) to turn the death ; 535 And numberless such offices of love, Dailv, and nightly, zealous to perform. Shook sudden from the bosom of the sky, A thousand shapes or glide athwart the dusk, SUMMER. 75 A solemn Grove described. Or stalk majestic on. Deep-rous'd, I feel 540 A sacred terror, a severe delight, Creep thro* my mortal frame ; and thus, methinks, A voice, than human more, th' abstracted ear Of fancy strikes. ** Be not of us afraid, " Poor kindred Man ! thy fellow-creatures, we 545 " From the same Parent-Power our beings drew, •* The same our Lord, and laws, and great pursuit. " Once some of us, like thee, thro* stormy life, " Toird, tempest-beaten, ere we could attain " This holy calm, this harmony of mind, 550 " Where purity and peace immingle charms. " Then fear not us ; but with responsive song, " Amid these dim recesses, undisturb'd " By noisy folly and discordant vice, " Of Nature sing with us, and Nature's God. 555 " Here frequent, at the visionary hour, " When musing midnight reigns or silent noon, " Angelic harps are in full concert heard, cc And voices chaunting from the wood-crown'd hill, " The deepening dale, or inmost sylvan glade : 560 " A privilege bestow'd by us, alone, " On contemplation, or the hallow'd ear f* Of Poet, swelling to seraphic strains." And art thou, Stanley, of that sacred band ? 76 SUMMER. A solemn Grove described. Alas, for us too soon ! Tho' rais'd above 565 The reach of human pain, above the flight Of human joy ; yet, with a mingled ray Of sadly-pleas'd remembrance, must thou feel A mothers love, a mother's tender woe : Who seeks thee still, in many a former scene; 570 Seeks thy fair form, thy lovely-beaming eyes, Thy pleasing converse, by gay lively sense Inspir'd : where moral wisdom mildly shone, Without the toil of art ; and virtue glow'd, In all her smiles, without forbidding pride. 575 But, O thou best of parents ! wipe thy tears ; Or rather to Parental Nature pay The tears of grateful joy \ who for a while Lent thee this younger self, this opening bloom Of thy enlightened mind and gentle worth. 580 Believe the Muse : the wintry blast of death Kills not the buds of virtue ; no, they spread, Beneath the heavenly beam of brighter suns, Thro' endless ages, into higher powers. Thus up the mount, in airy vision rapt, 585 I stray, regardless whither ; till the sound Of a near fall of water every sense Wakes from the charm of thought : swift-shrinking back, I check my steps, and view the broken scene. SUMMER. 77 A Waterfall described. Smooth to the shelving brink a copious flood 590 Rolls fair, and placid ; where collected all, In one impetuous torrent, down the steep It thundering shoots, and shakes the country round. At first, an azure sheet, it rushes broad ; Then whitening by degrees, as prone it falls, 595 And from the loud-resounding rocks below Dash'd in a cloud of foam, it sends aloft A hoary mist, and forms a ceaseless shower. Nor can the tortur'd wave here find repose ; But, raging still amid the shaggy rocks, 600 Now flashes o'er the scatter'd fragments, now Aslant the hollowed channel rapid darts •> And falling fast from gradual slope to slope, With wild infracted course, and lessened roar, It gains a safer bed ; and steals, at last, 605 Along the mazes of the quiet vale. Invited from the cliff, to whose dark brow He clings, the steep-ascending eagle soars, With upward pinions thro' the flood of day ; And, giving full his bosom to the blaze, 610 Gains on the sun ; while all the tuneful race, Smit by afflictive noon, disordered droop, Deep in the thicket ; or, from bower to bower Responsive, force an interrupted strain. 78 SUMMER. Torrid Zone described. The stock-dove only thro* the forest cooes, 615 Mournfully hoarse ; oft ceasing from his plaint; Short interval of weary woe ! again The sad idea of his murder'd mate, Struck from his side by savage fowler's guile, Across his fancy comes ; and then resounds 620 A louder song of sorrow thro* the grove. Beside the dewy border let me sit, All in the freshness of the humid air ; There in that hollow'd rock, grotesque and wild, An ample chair moss-lin'd, and over head 625 By flowering umbrage shaded ; where the bee Strays diligent, and with th' extracted balm Of fragrant woodbine loads his little thigh. Now, while I taste the sweetness of the shade, While Nature lies around deep-lull'd in Noon, 630 Now come, bold Fancy, spread a daring flight, And view the wonders of the Torrid Zone : Climes unrelenting ! with whose rage compar'd, Yon blaze is feeble, and yon skies are cool. See, how at once the bright-effulgent sun, 635 Rising direct, swift chases from the sky The short-liv'd twilight > and with ardent blaze Looks gaily fierce thro' all the dazzling air He mounts his throne ; but kind before him sends, SUMMER. 79 Gardening. Issuing from out the portals of the morn, 640 The general breeze, to mitigate his lire, And breathe refreshment on a fainting world. Great are the scenes, with dreadful beauty crown'd And barbarous wealth, that see, each circling year, Returning suns and double seasons pass: 645 Rocks rich in gems, and mountains big with mines, That on the high equator ridgy rise, Whence many a bursting stream auriferous plays : Majestic woods, of every vigorous green, Stage above stage, high-waving o'er the hills ; 650 Or to the far horizon wide diffus'd, A boundless deep immensity of shade. Here lofty trees, to ancient song unknown, The noble sons of potent heat and floods, 654 Prone-rushing from the clouds, rear high to Heaven Their thorny stems ; and broad around them throw Meridian gloom. Here, in eternal prime, Unnumber'd fruits, of keen delicious taste And vital spirit, drink amid the cliffs, And burning sands that bank the shrubby vales, 660 Redoubled day ; yet in their rugged coats A friendly juice to cool its rage contain. Bear me, Pomona! to thy citron groves; To where the lemon and the piercing lime, 80 SUMMER. Gardening. With the deep orange, glowing thro' the green, 665 Their lighter glories blend. Lay me reclin'd Beneath the spreading tamarind that shakes, Fann'd by the breeze, its fever-cooling fruit. Deep in the night the massy locust sheds, Quench my hot limbs; or lead me thro* the maze, 670 Embowering endless, of the Indian fig; Or thrown at gayer ease, on some fair brow, Let me behold, by breezy murmurs cool'd, Broad o'er my head the verdant cedar wave, And high palmetos lift their graceful shade. Or stretch'd amid these orchards of the sun, Give me to drain the cocoa's milky bowl, And from the palm to draw its freshening wine ; More bounteous far, than all the frantic juice Which Bacchus pours. Nor, on its slender twigs 680 Low-bending, be the full pomegranate scorn'd ; Nor, creeping thro* the woods, the gelid race Of berries. Oft in humble station dwells Unboastful worth, above fastidious pomp. Witness, thou best Anana ! thou the pride 685 Of vegetable life, beyond whate'er The poets imag'd in the golden age : Quick let me strip thee of thy tufty coat, Spread thy ambrosial stores, and feast with Jove ! SUMMER. 81 Various Animals des'Tibed. From these the prospect varies. Plains immense Lie stretch'd below, interminable meads, 691 And vast savannahs, where the wandering eye, Unfixt, is in a verdant ocean lost. Another Flora there, of bolder hues, And richer sweets, beyond our garden's pride, 695 Plays o'er the fields, and showers with sudden hand Exuberant spring : for oft these valleys shift Their green-embroider'd robe to fiery brown, And swift to green again, as scorching suns, Or streaming dews and torrent rains, prevail. 700 Along these lonely regions, where retir'd From little scenes of art, great Nature dwells In awful solitude ; and nought is seen But the wild herds that own no master's stall ; Prodigious rivers roll their fattening seas ; 705 On whose luxuriant herbage, half-conceal'd, Like a fall'n cedar, far-dirTus'd his train, Cas'd in green scales, the crocodile extends. The flood disparts : behold ! in plaited mail, Behemoth rears his head. Glanc'd from his side, 710 The darted steel in idle shivers flies : He fearless walks the plain, or seeks the hills ; Where, as he crops his varied fare, the herds, In widening circle round, forget their food, G 82 SUMMER Various Animals described. And at the harmless stranger wondering gaze. 715 Peaceful, beneath primeval trees, that cast Their ample shade o'er Niger's yellow stream, And where the Ganges rolls his sacred wave ; Or mid the central depth of blackening woods, High-rais'd in solemn theatre around, 720 Leans the huge elephant : wisest of brutes ! O truly wise ! with gentle might endow'd ; Tho' powerful, not destructive ! Here he sees Revolving ages sweep the changeful earth, And empires rise and fall ; regardless he 725 Of what the never-resting race of Men Project : thrice happy ! could he 'scape their guile, Who mine, from cruel avarice, his steps ; Or with his towery grandeur swell their state, The pride of kings ! or else his strength pervert, 730 And bid him rage amid the mortal fray, Astonish'd at the madness of mankind. Wide o'er the winding umbrage of the floods, Like vivid blossoms glowing from afar, Thick-swarm the brighter birds. For Nature's hand, That with a sportive vanity has deck'd 736 The plumy nations, there her gayest hues Profusely pours. But, if she bids them shine, Array'd in all the beauteous beams of day, SUMMER. 83 Various Animals described. Yet frugal still, she humbles them in song. 740 Nor envy we the gaudy robes they lent Proud Montezuma's realm, whose legions cast A boundless radiance waving on the sun, While Philomel is ours ; while in our shades, Thro* the soft silence of the listening night, 745 The sober-suited songstress trills her lay. But come, my Muse, the desert-barrier burst, A wild expanse of lifeless sand and sky: And, swifter than the toiling caravan, Shoot o'er the vale of Sennar ; ardent climb 750 The Nubian mountains, and the secret bounds Of jealous Abyssinia boldly pierce. Thou art no ruffian, who beneath the mask Of social commerce com'st to rob their wealth ; No holy Fury thou, blaspheming Heaven, 755 With consecrated steel to stab their peace, And thro' the land, yet red from civil wounds, To spread the purple tyranny of Rome. Thou, like the harmless bee, may'st freely range, From mead to mead bright with exalted flowers; 760 From jasmine grove to grove, may'st wander gay ; Thro* palmy shades and aromatic woods, That grace the plains, invest the peopled hills, And up the more than Alpine mountains wave. 84 SUMMER Thunder described, There on the breezy summit, spreading fair, 765 For many a league ; or on stupendous rocks, That from the sun-redoubling valley lift, Cool to the middle air, their lawny tops ; Where palaces, and fanes, and villas rise ; And gardens smile around, and cultur'd fields ; 770 And fountains gush ; and careless herds and flocks Securely stray ; a world within itself, Disdaining all assault : there let me draw Ethereal soul ; there drink reviving gales, Profusely breathing from the spicy groves, 775 And vales of fragrance ; there at distance hear The roaring floods, and cataracts, that sweep From disembowel'd earth the virgin gold ; And o'er the varied landskip, restless, rove, Fervent with life of every fairer kind ; 780 A land of wonders ! which the sun still eyes With ray direct, as of the lovely realm Enamour'd, and delighting there to dwell. How chang'd the scene! In blazing height of. noon, The sun, oppress'd, is plung'd in thickest gloom. 785 Still Horror reigns ! a dreary twilight round, Of struggling night and day malignant mix'd ! For to the hot equator crowding fast, Where, highly rarefy'd, the yielding air SUMMER. 85 The River Nile described. Admits their stream, incessant vapours roll, 790 Amazing clouds on clouds continual heap'd ; Or whirl'd tempestuous by the gusty wind, Or silent borne along, heavy, and slow, With the big stores of steaming oceans charg'd. Meantime, amid these upper seas, condense 795 Around the cold aerial mountain's brow, And by conflicting winds together dash'd, The Thunder holds his black tremendous throne : From cloud to cloud the rending Lightnings rage -, Till, in the furious elemental war 800 Dissolv'd, the whole precipitated mass •Unbroken floods and solid torrents pours. The treasures these, hid from the bounded search Of ancient knowledge ; whence, with annual pomp, Rich king of floods 1 o'erflows the swelling Nile. 805 From his two springs, in Gojam's sunny realm, Pure-welling out, he thro' the lucid lake Of fair Dambea rolls his infant-stream. There, by the Naiads nurs'd, he sports away His playful youth, amid the fragrant isles, 810 That with unfading verdure smile around. Ambitious, thence the manly river breaks ; And gathering many a flood, and copious fed With all the mellowed treasures of the sky, 86 SUMMER. The TCiver Nile described. Winds in progressive majesty along : 815 Thro' splendid kingdoms now devolves his maze -, Now wanders wild o'er solitary tracts Of life-deserted sand ; till, glad to quit The joyless desert, down the Nubian rocks From thundering steep to steep, he pours his urn, 820 And Egypt joys beneath the spreading wave. His brother Niger too, and all the floods In which the full-form'd maids of Afric lave Their jetty limbs ; and all that from the tract Of woody mountains stretch'd thro* gorgeous Ind 825 Fall on Commanders coast, or Malabar ; From Menam's orient stream, that nightly shines With insect-lamps, to where Aurora sheds On Indus' smiling banks the rosy shower : All, at this bounteous season, ope their urns, 830 And pour untoiling harvest o'er the land. Nor less thy world, Columbus, drinks, refresh'd, The lavish moisture of the melting year. Wide o'er his isles the branching Oronoque Rolls a brown deluge; and the native drives 835 To dwell aloft on life-sufficing trees ; At once his dome, his robe, his food, and arms. Swell'd by a thousand streams, impetuous hurl'd From all the roaring Andes, huge descends SUMMER. 87 Africa and its Inhabitants. The mighty Orellana. Sacrce the Muse 840 Dares stretch her wing o'er this enormous mass Of rushing water ; scarce she dares attempt The sea-like Plata ; to whose dread expanse, Continuous depth, and wondrous length of course, Our floods are rills. With unabated force, 845 In silent dignity they sweep along ; And traverse realms unknown, and blooming wilds, And fruitful deserts, worlds of solitude ! Where the sun smiles and seasons teem in vain, Unseen, and unenjoy'd. Forsaking these, 850 O'er peopled plains they fair-diffusive flow ; And many a nation feed ; and circle safe, In their soft bosom, many a happy isle ; The seat of blameless Pan, yet undisturb'd By Christian crimes and Europe's cruel sons. 855 Thus pouring on they proudly seek the deep, Whose vanquish'd tide, recoiling from the shock, Yields to this liquid weight of half the globe ; And Ocean trembles for his green domain. But what avails this wondrous waste of wealth ? This gay profusion of luxurious bliss ? 861 This pomp of Nature ? what their balmy meads, Their powerful herbs, and Ceres void of pain ? By vagrant birds dispers'd, and wafting winds, 88 SUMMER Africa and its inhabitants. What their unplanted fruits? What the cool draughts, Th* ambrosial food, rich gums, and spicy health, 866 Their forests yield ? Their toiling insects what ? Their silky pride, and vegetable robes ? Ah ! what avail their fatal treasures, hid Deep in the bowels of the pitying earth, 870 Golconda's gems, and sad Potosi's mines ; Where dwelt the gentlest children of the sun ? What all that Afric's golden rivers roll, Her od'rous woods, and shining ivory stores ? Ill-fated race ! the softening arts of Peace ; 875 Whate'er the humanizing Muses teach ; The godlike wisdom of the temper'd breast ; Progressive truth ; the patient force of thought ; Investigation calm, whose silent powers Command the world; the Light that leads to Heaven ; Kind equal rule; the government of laws, 881 And all-protecting Freedom, which alone Sustains the name and dignity of Man ; These are not theirs. The parent-sun himself Seems o'er this world of slaves to tyrannize; 885 And, with oppressive ray, the roseate bloom Of beauty blasting, gives the gloomy hue, And feature gross : or worse, to ruthless deeds, Mad jealousy, blind rage, and fell revenge, SUMMER. 89 Animals of the Desert. Their fervid spirit fires. Love dwells not there; 890 The soft regards, the tenderness of life, The heart-shed tear, th' ineffable delight Of sweet humanity; these court the beam Of milder climes ; in selfish fierce desire, And the wild fury of voluptuous sense, 895 There lost. The very brute-creation there This rage partakes, and burns with horrid fire. Lo ! the green serpent, from his dark abode, Which ev'n Imagination fears to tread, At noon forth-issuing, gathers up his train 900 In orbs immense ; then, darting out anew, Seeks the refreshing fount ; by which diffused, He throwshis folds : and while, with threat'ning tongue, And deathful jaws erect, the monster curls His flaming crest, all other thirst appall'd, 905 Or shivering flies, or check'd at distance stands, Nor dares approach. But still more direful he, The small close-lurking minister of Fate, Whose high-concocted venom thro* the veins A rapid lightning darts, arresting swift 910 The vital current. Form'd to humble man, This child of vengeful Nature ! There, sublim'd To fearless lust of blood, the savage race Roam, licens'd by the shading hour of guilt, 90 SUMMER. Animals of the Desert. And foul misdeed, when the pure day has shut 915 His sacred eye. The tiger darting fierce Impetuous on the prey his glance has doom'd ; The lively-shining leopard, speckled o'er With many a spot, the beauty of the waste ; And, scorning all the taming arts of Man, 920 The keen hyena, fellest of the fell : These, rushing from th' inhospitable woods Of Mauritania, or the tufted isles, That verdant rise amid the Libyan wild, Innumerous glare around their shaggy king 925 Majestic, stalking o'er the printed sand ; And, with imperious and repeated roars, Demand their fated food. The fearful flocks Crowd near the guardian swain ; the nobler herds, Where round their lordly bull, in rural ease, 930 They ruminating lie, with horror hear The coming rage. Th' awakened village starts; And to her fluttering breast the mother strains Her thoughtless infant. From the pirate's den, Or stern Morocco's tyrant fang escap'd, 935 The wretch half-wishes for his bonds again : While, uproar all, the wilderness resounds, From Atlas eastward to the frighted Nile. Unhappy he 1 who from the first of joys, SUMMER. 9i Deserts of Arabia. Society, cut off, is left alone 940 Amid this world of death. Day after day, Sad on the jutting eminence he sits, And views the main that ever toils below ; Still fondly forming in the farthest verge, Where the round ether mixes with the wave, 945 Ships, dim-discover'd, dropping from the clouds ; At evening, to the setting sun he turns A mournful eye, and down his dying heart Sinks helpless ; while the wonted roar is up, And hiss continual thro' the tedious night. 950 Yet here, even here, into these black abodes Of monsters, unappall'd, from stooping Rome, And guilty Caesar, Liberty retir'd, Her Cato following thro' Numidian wilds : Disdainful of Campania's gentle plains, 955 And all the green delights Ausonia pours ; When for them she must bend the servile knee, And fawning take the splendid robber's boon. Nor stop the terrors of these regions here. Commission'd demons oft, angels of wrath ! 960 Let loose the raging elements. Breath'd hot, From all the boundless furnace of the sky, And the wide glittering waste of burning sand, A suffocating wind the pilgrim smites 92 SUMMER. A Hurricane described. With instant death. Patient of thirst and toil, 965 Son of the desert ! ev'n the camel feels, Shot through his wither'd heart, the fiery blast. Or from the black-red ether, bursting broad, Sallies the sudden whirlwind. Strait the sands, Commov'd around, in gathering eddies play ; 970 Nearer and nearer still they darkening come ; Till, with the general all-involving storm Swept up, the whole continuous wilds arise ; And by their noon-day fount dejected thrown, Or sunk at night in sad disastrous sleep, 975 Beneath descending hills, the caravan Is buried deep. In Cairo's crowded streets Th' impatient merchant, wondering, waits in vain, And Mecca saddens at the long delay. But chief at sea, whose every flexile wave 980 Obeys the blast, the aerial tumult swells. In the dread ocean, undulating wide, Beneath the radiant line that girts the globe, The circling Typhon, whirl'd from point to point, Exhausting all the rage of all the sky, 985 And dire Ecnephia reign. Amid the heavens, Falsely serene, deep in a cloudy, speck Compress'd, the mighty tempest brooding dwells ; Of no regard, save to the skilful eye. SUMMER. 93 A Hurricane described. Fiery and foul, the small prognostic hangs 990 Aloft, or on the promontory's brow- Musters its force. A faint deceitful calm, A fluttering gale, the demon sends before, To tempt the spreading sail. Then down at once, Precipitant, descends a mingled mass 995 Of roaring winds, and flame, and rushing floods. In wild amazement fix'd the sailor stands. Art is too slow : by rapid Fate oppressed, His broad-wing'd vessel drinks the whelming tide, Hid in the bosom of the black abyss. 1000 With such mad seas the daring Gam a fought, For many a day, and many a dreadful night, Incessant, lab'ring round the stormy Cape ; By bold ambition led, and bolder thirst Of gold. For then from ancient gloom emerg'd 1005 The rising world of trade ; the Genius, then, Of navigation, that, in hopeless sloth, Had slumber'd on the vast Atlantic deep, For idle ages, starting, heard at last The Lusitanian Prince ; who, HEAv'N-inspir'd, To love of useful glory rous'd mankind, 101 1 And in unbounded Commerce mix'd the world. Increasing still the terrors of these storms, His jaws horrific arm'd with threefold fate, 94 SUMMER. Pestilential Diseases. Here dwells the direful shark. Lur'd by the scent 1015 Of steaming crowds, of rank disease, and death, Behold ! he rushing cuts the briny flood, Swift as the gale can bear the ship along ; And, from the partners of that cruel trade, Which spoils unhappy Guinea of her sons, 1020 Demands his share of prey ; demands themselves. The stormy Fates descend : one death involves Tyrants and slaves ; when strait, their mangled limbs Crashing at once, he dies the purple seas With gore, and riots in the vengeful meal. 1025 When o'er this world, by equinoctial rains Flooded immense, looks out the joyless sun, And draws the copious stream : from swampy fens, Where putrefaction into life ferments, And breathes destructive myriads ; or from woods, Impenetrable shades, recesses foul, 1031 In vapours rank and blue corruption wrapt, Whose gloomy horrors yet no desperate foot Has ever dar'd to pierce ; then, wasteful, forth Walks the dire Power of pestilential disease. 1035 A thousand hideous fiends her course attend j Sick Nature blasting, and to heartless woe, And feeble desolation, casting down The towering hopes and all the pride of Man. SUMMER. 95 The Plague. Such as, of late, at Carthagena quench'd 1040 The British fire. You, gallant Vernon ! saw The miserable scene ; you, pitying, saw- To infant-weakness sunk the warrior's arm ; Saw the deep-racking pang, the ghastly form, The lip pale-quivering, and the beamless eye 1045 No more with ardour bright : you heard the groans Of agonizing ships, from shore to shore ; Heard, nightly plung'd amid the sullen waves, The frequent corse ; while on each other fix'd, In sad presage, the blank assistants seem'd, 1050 Silent, to ask, whom Fate would next demand. What need I mention those inclement skies, Where, frequent o'er the sickening city, Plague, The fiercest child of Nemesis divine, Descends ? From Ethiopia's poisoned woods, 1055 From stifled Cairo's filth, and fetid fields With locust-armies putrefying heap'd, This great destroyer sprung. Her awful rage The brutes escape : Man is her destin'd prey ; Intemperate Man ! and, o'er his guilty domes, 1060 She draws a close incumbent cloud of death ; Uninterrupted by the living winds, Forbid to blow a wholesome breeze ; and stain'd With many a mixture by the sun, sufFus'd, 96 SUMMER. The Plague. Of angry aspect. Princely wisdom, then, 1065 Dejects his watchful eye ; and from the hand Of feeble justice, ineffectual, drop The sword and balance : mute the voice of joy, And hush'd the clamour of the busy world. Empty the streets, with uncooth verdure clad ; 1070 Into the worst of deserts sudden turn'd The cheerful haunt of Men : unless escap'd From the doom'd house, where matchless horror reigns, Shut up by barbarous fear, the smitten wretch, With frenzy wild, breaks loose; and, loud to Heaven Screaming, the dreadful policy arraigns, 1076 Inhuman, and unwise. The sullen door, Yet uninfected, on its cautious hinge Fearing to turn, abhors society : Dependants, friends, relations, Love himself, 1080 Savag'd by woe, forget the tender tie, The sweet engagement of the feeling heart. But vain their selfish care : the circling sky, The wide enlivening air is full of fate ; And, struck by turns, in solitary pangs 1085 They fall, unblest, untended, and unmourn'd. Thus o'er the prostrate city black Despair Extends her raven wing ; while, to complete The scene of desolation, stretch'd around, SUMMER. 97 A Thunder Storm. The grim guards stand, denying all retreat, 1090 And give the flying wretch a better death. Much yet remains unsung : the rage intense Of brazen-vaulted skies, of iron fields, Where drought and famine starve the blasted year: Fir'd by the torch of noon to ten-fold rage, 1095 Th' infuriate hill that shoots the pillar'd flame ; And, rous'd within the subterranean world, Th* expanding earthquake, that resistless shakes Aspiring cities from their solid base, And buries mountains in the flaming gulph. 1100 But 't is enough ; return my vagrant Muse : A nearer scene of horror calls thee home. Behold, slow-settling o'er the lurid grove, Unusual darkness broods ; and growing gains The full possession of the sky ; surcharg'd 1 105 With wrathful vapour, from the secret beds Where sleep the mineral generations, drawn. Thence Nitre, Sulphur, and the fiery spume Of fat Bitumen, steaming on the day, With various tinctur'd trains of latent flame, 1110 Pollute the sky ; and in yon baleful cloud, A reddening gloom, a magazine of fate, Ferment ; till, by the touch ethereal rous'd, The dash of clouds, or irritating war H 98 SUMMER. A Thunder Storm. Of fighting winds, while all is calm below, 1115 They furious spring. A boding silence reigns, Dread thro' the dun expanse \ save the dull sound That from the mountain, previous to the storm, Rolls o'er the muttering earth, disturbs the flood, And shakes the forest-leaf without a breath. 1120 Prone, to the lowest vale, the aerial tribes Descend : the tempest-loving raven scarce Dares wing the dubious dusk. In rueful gaze The cattle stand, and on the scowling heavens Cast a deploring eye ; by Man forsook, 1125 Who to the crowded cottage hies him fast, Or seeks the shelter of the downward cave. 'Tis listening fear, and dumb amazement all : When to the startled eye the sudden glance Appears far south, eruptive thro* the cloud ; 1 130 And following slower, in explosion vast, The thunder raises his tremendous voice. At first, heard solemn o'er the verge of heaven, The tempest growls ; but as it nearer comes, And rolls its awful burden on the wind, 1135 The lightnings flash a larger curve, and more The noise astounds : till over head a sheet Of livid flame discloses wide ; then shuts, And opens wider; shuts and opens still SUxMMER. 99 A Thunder Storm. Expansive, wrapping ether in a blaze. 1140 Follows the loosened aggravated roar, Enlarging, deepening, mingling ; peal on peal Crush'd horrible, convulsing heaven and earth. Down comes a deluge of sonorous hail, Or prone-descending rain. Wide rent, the clouds 1145 Pour a whole flood ; and yet, its flame unquench'd, Th' unconquerable lightning struggles through, Ragged and fierce, or in red whirling balls ; And fires the mountains with redoubled rage. 1149 Black from the stroke, above, the smouldering pine Stands a sad shatter'd trunk ; and, stretch'd below, A lifeless group the blasted cattle lie : Here the soft flocks, with that same harmless look They wore alive, and ruminating still In fancy's eye ; and there the frowning bull 1155 And ox half-rais'd. Struck on the castled cliff, The venerable tower and spiry fane Resign their aged pride. The gloomy woods Start at the flash, and from their deep recess, Wide-flaming out, their trembling inmates shake. Amid Carnarvon's mountains rages loud 1161 The repercussive roar : with mighty crush, Into the flashing deep, from the rude rocks Of Penmanmaur heap'd hideous to the sky, 100 SUMMER Story of Celadon and Amelia. Tumble the smitten cliffs; and Snowden's peak, 1 165 Dissolving, instant yields his wintry load. Far-seen, the heights of heathy Cheviot blaze, And Thule bellows thro' her utmost isles. Guilt hears appall'd, with deeply-troubled thought. And yet not always on the guilty head 1 170 Descends the fated flash. Young Celadon And his Amelia were a matchless pair ; With equal virtue form'd, and equal grace, The same, distinguish'd by their sex alone : Her's the mild lustre of the blooming morn, 1175 And his the radiance of the risen day. They lov'd : but such their guileless passion was, As in the dawn of time inform 'd the heart Of innocence, and undissembling truth. 'T was friendship heightened by the mutual wish, 1 1 80 Th' enchanting hope, and sympathetic glow, Beam'd from the mutual eye. Devoting all To love, each was to each a dearer self; Supremely happy in th' awakened power Of giving joy. Alone, amid the shades, 11851 Still in harmonious intercourse they liv'd The rural day, and talk'd the flowing heart, Or sigh'd and look'd unutterable things. So pass'd their life, a clear united stream, I SUMMER. 101 Story of Celadon and Amelia. By care unruffled; till, in evil hour, 1190 The tempest caught them on the tender walk, Heedless how far, and where its mazes stray 'd ; While, with each other blest, creative love Still bade eternal Eden smile around. Presaging instant fate her bosom heav'd 1 195 Unwonted sighs ; and stealing oft a look Of the big gloom on Celadon, her eye Fell tearful, wetting her disordered cheek. In vain assuring love, and confidence 1199 In Heaven, repress'd her fear; it grew, and shook Her frame near dissolution. He perceiv'd Th' unequal conflict, and as angels look On dying saints, his eyes compassion shed, With love illumin'd high. " Fear not," he said, cc Sweet innocence ! thou stranger to offence, 1205 " And inward storm ! He, who yon skies involves *' In frowns of darkness, ever smiles on thee " With kind regard. O'er thee the secret shaft " That wastes at midnight, or th' undreaded hour " Of noon, flies harmless: and that very voice, 1210 " Which thunders terror thro' the guilty heart, " With tongues of seraphs whispers peace to thine. " 'Tis safety to be near thee sure, and thus " To clasp perfection!" From his void embrace, 1214 102 SUMMER. Story of Celadon and Amelia. 220 Mysterious Heaven ! that moment, to the ground, A blackened corse, was struck the beauteous maid. But who can paint the lover, as he stood, Pierc'd by severe amazement, hating life, Speechless, and nVd in all the death of woe ! So, faint resemblance ! on the marble tomb, 122 The well-dissembled mourner stooping stands, For ever silent, and for ever sad. As from the face of heaven the shattered clouds Tumultuous rove, th' interminable sky Sublimer swells, and o'er the world expands 1225 A purer azure. Thro* the lightened air A higher lustre and a clearer calm, Diffusive, tremble $ while, as if in sign Of danger past, a glittering robe of joy, Set off abundant by the yellow ray, 1230 Invests the fields ; and nature smiles reviv'd. 'Tis beauty all, and grateful song around, Join'd to the low of kine, and numerous bleat Of flocks thick-nibbling thro' the clover'd vale. And shall the hymn be marr'd by thankless Man, 1235 Most favour'd ; who with voice articulate Should lead the chorus of this lower world ? Shall he, so soon forgetful of the Hand That hush'd the thunder, and serenes the sky, SUMMER. 103 Bathing. Extinguish'd feel that spark the tempest wak'd ? 1240 That sense of powers exceeding far his own, Ere yet his feeble heart has lost its fears ? Cheer'd by the milder beam, the sprightly youth Speeds to the well-known pool, whose crystal depth A sandy bottom shows. Awhile he stands 1245 Gazing th' inverted landskip, half afraid To meditate the blue profound below ; Then plunges headlong down the circling flood. His ebon tresses, and his rosy cheek, Instant emerge; and thro' the obedient wave, 1250 At each short breathing by his lip repell'd, With arms and legs according well, he makes, As humour leads, an easy-winding path ; While, from his polish'd sides, a dewy light Effuses on the pleas'd spectators round. 1255 This is the purest exercise of health, The kind refresher of the summer-heats ; Nor, when cold winter keens the brightening flood, Would I weak-shivering linger on the brink. Thus life redoubles, and is oft preserv'd, 1260 By the bold swimmer, in the swift illapse Of accident disastrous. Hence the limbs Knit into force ; and the same Roman arm, That rose victorious o'er the conquer'd earth, 104 SUMMER. Story of Damon and Musidora. First learn'd, while tender, to subdue the wave. 1265 Even, from the body's purity, the mind Receives a secret sympathetic aid. Close in the covert of an hazel copse, Where winded into pleasing solitudes Runs out the rambling dale, young Damon sat, 1 270 Pensive, and pierc'd with love's delightful pangs. There to the stream that down the distant rocks Hoarse-murmuring fell, and plaintivebreeze that play'd Among the bending willows, falsely he Of Musidora's cruelty complain'd. 1275 She felt his flame ; but deep within her breast, In bashful coyness, or in maiden pride, The soft return conceal'd ; save when it stole In side-long glances from her downcast eye, Or from her swelling soul in stifled sighs. 1280 Touch'd by the scene, no stranger to his vows, He fram'd a melting lay, to try her heart ; And, if an infant passion struggled there, To call that passion forth. Thrice happy swain ! A lucky chance, that oft decides the fate 1285 Of mighty monarchs, then decided thine. For lo ! conducted by the laughing Loves, This cool retreat his Musidora sought. Warm in her cheek the sultry season glow'd ; SUMMER. 105 Story of Damon and Musidora. And, rob'd in loose array, she came to bathe 1290 Her fervent limbs in the refreshing stream. What shall he do ? In sweet confusion lost, And dubious flutterings, he a while remain'd : A pure ingenuous elegance of soul, A delicate refinement, known to few, 1295 Perplex'd his breast, and urg'd him to retire : But love forbade. Ye prudes in virtue, say, Say, ye severest, what would you have done ? Meantime, this fairer nymph than ever blest Arcadian stream, with timid eye around 1300 The banks surveying, stripp'd her beauteous limbs, To taste the lucid coolness of the flood. Ah then ! not Paris on the piny top Of Ida panted stronger, when aside The rival-goddesses the veil divine 1305 Cast unconfinM, and gave him all their charms, Than, Damon, thou ; as from the snowy leg, And slender foot, th' inverted silk she drew ; As the soft touch dissolv'd the virgin zone -, And, thro' the parting robe, th' alternate breast, 1310 With youth wild-throbbing, on thy lawless gaze In full luxuriance rose. But, desperate youth, How durst thou risque the soul-distracting view, As from her naked limbs, of glowing white, 106 SUMMER. Story of Damon and Musidora. Harmonious swell'd by Nature's finest hand, 1315 In folds loose-floating fell the fainter lawn ; And fair-expos'd she stood, shrunk from herself, With fancy blushing, at the doubtful breeze Alarm'd, and starting like the fearful fawn ? Then to the flood she rush'd ; the parted flood 1320 Its lovely guest with closing waves receiv'd -, And every beauty softening, every grace Flushing anew, a mellow lustre shed : As shines the lily thro' the crystal mild ; Or as the rose amid the morning dew, 1325 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 1330 Such madning draughts of beauty to the soul, As for a while 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 1335 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 : " Bathe on, my fair, SUMMER. 107 Story of Damon and Musidora. " Yet unbeheld save by the sacred eye 1340 " Of faithful love : I go to guard thy haunt ; " To keep from thy recess each vagrant foot, cc And each licentious eye." With wild surprise, As if to marble struck, devoid of sense, A stupid moment motionless she stood : 1345 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 1350 In careless haste, th' alarming paper snatch'd. But, when her Damon's well-known hand she saw, Her terrors vanish'd, and a softer train Of mixt emotions, hard to be describ'd, Her sudden bosom seiz'd : shame void of guilt -, 1355 The charming blush of innocence ; esteem And admiration of her lover's flame, By modesty exalted : ev'n a sense Of self-approving beauty stole across Her busy thought. At length, a tender calm 1360 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, 108 SUMMER. Evening described. Which soon her Damon kiss'd with weeping joy: 1365 " Dear youth! sole judge of what these verses mean; cc 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 1370 Shoots nothing now but animating warmth, And vital lustre ; that, with various ray, Lights up the clouds,those beauteous robesof Heaven, Incessant roll'd into romantic shapes, The dream of waking fancy! Broad below, 1375 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 1380 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, 1385 Of which the vulgar never had a glimpse, Displays its charms ; whose minds are richly fraught With philosophic stores, superior light ; And in whose breast, enthusiastic, burns SUMMER. 109 The "River Thames. Virtue, the sons of interest deem romance ; 1390 Now call'd abroad enjoy the falling day : Now to the verdant Portico of woods, To Nature's vast Lyceum, forth they walk ; By that kind School where no proud master reigns, The full free converse of the friendly heart, 1395 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. 1399 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, 1405 While radiant Summer opens all its pride, Thy hill, delightful Shene ? Here let us sweep The boundless landskip : now the raptur'd eye, Exulting swift, to huge Augusta send ; Now to the Sister-hills that skirt her plain ; 1 410 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 110 SUMMER. The River Thames. To where the silver Thames first rural grows. 1415 There let the feasted eye unwearied stray : Luxurious, there, rove thro' 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, 1420 With Her the pleasing partner of his heart, The worthy Q.ueensb'ry yet laments his Gay; And polish'd Cornbury wooes the willing Muse. Slow Jet us trace the matchless Vale of Thames ; Fair-winding up to where the Muses haunt 1425 In Twit'nam's bowers, and for their Pope implore The healing God ; to royal Hampton's pile ; To Clermont's terrass'd height ; and Esher's groves; Where in the sweetest solitude, emtwac'd By the soft windings of the silent Mole, 1430 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, 1435 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 SUMMER. in A Panegyric on Britain. The stretching landskip into smoke decays ! 1440 Happy Britannia ! where the Queen of Arts, Inspiring vigour, Liberty abroad Walks, unconfin'd, even to thy farthest cots, And scatters plenty with unsparing hand. Rich is thy soil, and merciful thy clime ; 1445 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 3 while, roving round their sides, Bellow the blackening herds in lusty droves. 1450 Beneath, thy meadows glow, and rise unquell'd Against the mower's scythe. On every hand Thy villas shine. Thy country teems with wealth 5 And property assures it to the swain, Pleas'd and unwearied in his guarded toil. 1455 Full are thy cities with the sons of art ; And trade and joy, in every busy street, Mingling are heard : even 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, 1461 With labour burn \ and echo to the shouts Of hurried sailor, as he hearty waves 112 SUMMER. British Worthies. His last adieu ; and loosening every sheet, Resigns the spreading vessel to the wind. 1465 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 1470 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, 1475 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, 148Q Combine ; whose hallow'd name the virtues saint, And his own Muses love ; the best of Kings ! With him thy Edwards and thy Henrys shine, Names dear to Fame ; the first who deep impress'd On haughty Gaul the terror of thy arms, 1485 That awes her genius still. In Statesmen thou, And Patriots, fertile. Thine a steady More, SUMMER. 113 British Worthies Who, with a generous tho' mistaken zeal, Withstood a brutal tyrant's useful rage, Like Cato firm, like Aristides just, 1490 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. 1495 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. 1500 Nor sunk his vigour, when a coward-reign The warrior fettered ; and at last resign'd, To glut the vengeance of a vanquish'd foe. Then, active still and unrestrain'd, his mind Explored the vast extent of ages past, 1505 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, 1510 The plume of w T ar ! with early laurels crown'd, i 114 SUMMER. British Worthies. The Lover's myrtle, and the Poet's bay. A Hamden too is thine, illustrious land ! Wise, strenuous, firm, of unsubmitting soul ; Who stem'd the torrent of a downward age 1515 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. 1520 Bring every sweetest flower, and let me strew The grave where Russel lies; whose temper'd blood, With calmest cheerfulness for thee resign'd, Stain'd the sad annals of a giddy reign 5 Aiming at lawless power, tho' meanly sunk 1525 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' enlightened love Of ancient freedom warm'd. Fair thy renown 1530 In awful 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, 1535 SUMMER. 115 British Worthies. And thro* 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, 1540 Plato, the Stagyrite, and Tully join'd. The great deliverer he ! who from the gloom Of cloistered monks, and jargon-teaching schools, Led forth the true Philosophy, there long Held in the magic chain of words and forms, 1545 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. 1549 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, 1556 The great Creator sought? And why thy Locke, Who made the whole internal world his own ? Let Newton, pure Intelligence ! whom God 116 SUMMER. British Fair described. To mortals lent, to trace his boundless works 1560 From laws sublimely simple, speak thy fame In all philosophy. For lofty sense, Creative fancy, and inspection keen Thro' the deep windings of the human heart, 1664 Is not wild Shakespeare 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. 1570 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, 1575 Chaucer, whose native manners-painting verse, Well-moraliz'd, shines thro' 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, 1580J The feeling heart, simplicity of life, And elegance, and taste ; the faultless form, Shap'd by the hand of harmony ; the cheek, SUMMER. 117 British Fair described. Where the live crimson, thro* the native white Soft-shooting, o'er the face diffuses bloom, 1585 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; 1590 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, 1595 At once the wonder, terror, 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. 1600 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 1605 On gentle deeds, and shedding tears thro* smiles ; Undaunted Truth, and Dignity of mind ; 118 SUMMER. Decline of Day. Courage compos'd, and keen ; sound Temperance, Healthful in heart and look ; clear Chastity, With blushes reddening as she moves along, 1610 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 ; 1615 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 1620 Assembled gay, a richly-gorgeous train, In all their pomp attend his setting throne. Air, earth, and ocean, smile immense. And now, As if his weary chariot sought the bowers Of Amphitrite, and her tending nymphs, 1625 (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 ; 1630 As fleets the vision o'er the formful brain, SUMMER. 119 A Summer Evening: described. This moment hurrying wild th' impassion'd soul. The next in nothing lost. 'T is so to him, The dreamer of this earth, an idle blank; A sight of horror to the cruel wretch, 1635 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, 1640 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 Is inward rapture, only to be felt. 1645 Confess'd from yonder slow-extinguishM clouds, 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 die 1650 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; 1655 120 SUMMER. Proofs of genuine Love. While the quail clamours for his running mate. AVide 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 1660 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 ; 1665 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, 1670 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 1675 Of him, whom his ungentle fortune urg'd Against his own sad breast to lift the hand Of impious violence. The lonely tower Is also shun'd - s whose mournful chambers hold, SUMMER. 121 Ghosts the Dreams of Fancy. — Motions of the Planets. So night-struck Fancy dreams, the yelling ghost. 1680 Among the crooked lanes, on every hedge, The glow-worm lights his gem ; and, thro* 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 1685 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 1690 Th' ascending gleam, are all one swimming scene, Uncertain if beheld. Sudden to heaven Thence weary vision turns; where, leading soft The silent hours of love, with purest ray Sweet Venus shines ; and from her genial rise, 1695 When daylight sickens till it springs afresh, Unrival'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 1700 In wondrous shapes ; by fearful murmuring crowds Portentous deem'd. Amid the radiant orbs, That more than deck, that animate the sky, 122 SUMMER. Motions of the Planets. The life-infusing suns of other worlds ; Lo ! from the dread immensity of space 1705 Returning, with accelerated course, The rushing comet to the sun descends; And as he sinks below the shading earth, With awful train projected o'er the heavens, The guilty nations tremble. But, above 1710 Those superstitious horrors that enslave The fond sequacious herd, to mystic faith And blind amazement prone, the enlighten'd few, Whose godlike minds philosophy exalts, The glorious stranger hail. They feel a joy 1715 Divinely great; they in their powers exult, That wondrous force of thought, which mounting spurns This dusky spot, and measures all the sky; While, from his far excursion thro' the wilds Of barren ether, faithful to his time, 1720 They see the blazing wonder rise anew, In seeming terror 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, 1725 Thro' which his long ellipsis winds; perhaps To lend new fuel to. declining suns, SUMMER. 123 Praise of Philosophy. To light up worlds, and feed th' eternal fire. With thee, serene Philosophy, with thee, And thy bright garland, let me crown my song! 1730 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 sooth the parted soul, New to the dawning of celestial day, 1735 Hence thro' her nourish'd powers, enlarg'd by thee, 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, 1740 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, 1745 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, 1750 Diffusive painted on the rapid mind. 124 SUMMER. Praise of Philosophy. 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 ! 1755 Their highest honour, and their truest joy! Without thee, what were unenlighten'd Man? A savage roaming thro' the woods and wilds, In quest of prey ; and with th' unfashion'd fur Rough clad; devoid of every finer art, 1760 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 1765 Mechanic; nor the heaven-conducted prow Of navigation bold, that fearless braves The burning line or dares the wintry pole; Mother severe of infinite delights ! Nothing, save rapine, indolence, and guile, 1770 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 1775 SUMMER. 125 Praise of Philosophy. 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. 1780 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 1785 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; 1790 Compound, divide, and into order shift, Each to his rank, from plain perception up To the fair forms of Fancv's fleeting: train: To reason then, deducing truth from truth; And notion quite abstract; w T here first begins 1795 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, 126 SUMMER. Praise of Philosophy. In wayward passions lost, and vain pursuits, 1800 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. AUTU THE ARGUMENT. The subject proposed. Addressed to Mr. Onslow. A prospect of the fields ready for harvest. Reflections in praise of industry raised by that view. Reaping. A tale relative to it. A harvest-storm. Shooting and hunting, their barbarity. A ludicrous account of fox-hunting. A view of an or- chard. Wall-fruit. A vineyard. A description of fogs, frequent in the latter part of Autumn: whence a digression, inquiring 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. n r ooUerp A U T U M W . />?£ < /t/,j-/ew?z