Then feeks the fartheft ooze, the sheltering weed, 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 ftill, yet to his furious course Gives way, you, now retiring, following now Acrofs the ftream, exhaust his idle rage: Till floating broad upon his breathless fide, And to his fate abandon'd, to the fhore You gaily drag your unrefisting prize.
Thus pafs the temperate hours: but when the fun Shakes from his noon-day throne the scattering clouds, Ev'n fhooting listless languor through the deeps; Then feek the bank where flowering elders crowd, Where scatter'd wild the lily of the vale
Its balmy effence breathes, where cowflips 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 fteep; whence, borne on liquid wing, The founding culver shoots; or where the hawk, 450 High, in the beetling cliff, his aëry builds.
There let the claffic page thy fancy lead
Through rural fcenes; fuch as the Mantuan fwain Paints in the matchlefs harmony of fong.
Or catch thy felf the landskip, gliding swift Athwart imagination's vivid eye:
Or by the vocal woods and waters lull'd, And loft in lonely mufing, in the dream, Confus'd, of careless folitude, where mix
Ten thousand wandering images of things, Soothe every guft of paffion into peace; All but the swellings of the soften'd heart, That waken, not disturb, the tranquil mind. 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 hers?
Or can it mix them with that matchless skill, And lofe them in each other, as appears In every bud that blows? If fancy then Unequal fails beneath the pleafing task,
Ah, what shall language do? ah, where find words Ting'd with fo many colours; and whofe power, To life approaching, may perfume my lays With that fine oil, thofe aromatic gales, That inexhaustive flow continual round?
Yet, though fuccefslefs, 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 fong! 480 Form'd by the Graces, loveliness itself!
Come with thofe downcaft eyes, fedate and fweet, Those looks demure, that deeply pierce the foul, Where, with the light of thoughtful reason mix'd, Shines lively fancy and the feeling heart:
O come! and while the rofy-footed May Steals blushing on, together let us tread The morning dews, and gather in their prime Fresh-blooming flowers, to grace thy braided hair, C 2
And thy lov'd bofom that improves their sweets. See where the winding vale its lavish stores, Irriguous, fpreads. See, how the lily drinks The latent rill, fcarce oozing through the grafs, Of growth luxuriant; or the humid bank, In fair profufion, decks. Long let us walk,
Where the breeze blows from yon extended field
Of bloffom'd beans. Arabia cannot boast
A fuller gale of joy, than, liberal, thence
Breathes through the fenfe, and takes the ravish'd foul. Nor is the mead unworthy of thy foot,
Full of fresh verdure, and unnumber'd flowers,
The negligence of Nature, wide, and wild;
Where, undisguis'd by mimic Art, the spreads Unbounded beauty to the roving eye.
Here their delicious task the fervent bees,
In fwarming millions, tend: around, athwart, Through the soft air, the busy nations fly, Cling to the bud, and, with inserted tube, Suck its pure effence, its ethereal foul;
And oft, with bolder wing, they foaring dare
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 Its viftas opens, and its alleys green.
Snatch'd through the verdant maze, the hurried eye Distracted wanders; now the bowery walk Of covert close, where scarce a fpeck of day Falls on the lengthen'd gloom, protracted sweeps: Now meets the bending fky; the river now
Dimpling along, the breezy ruffled lake, The foreft darkening round, the glittering fpire, Th' ethereal mountain, and the distant main. But why so far excurfive? when at hand, Along thefe blushing borders, bright with dew, And in yon mingled wildernefs of flowers, Fair-handed Spring unbofoms. every grace; Throws out the snow-drop, and the crocus firft; The daify, primrose, violet darkly blue, And polyanthus of unnumber'd dyes;
The yellow wall-flower, ftain'd with iron-brown; 530 And lavish stock that fcents the garden round: From the foft wing of vernal breezes shed, Anemonies; auriculas, enrich'd
With fhining meal o'er all their velvet leaves ; And full ranunculas of glowing red.
Then comes the tulip-race, where Beauty plays Her idle freaks; from family diffus'd To family, as flies the father-dust,
The varied colours run; and, while they break On the charm'd eye, th' exulting florift marks, With fecret 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 pureft virgin white, Low-bent, and blushing inward; nor jonquils, Of potent fragrance; nor Narciffus fair,
As o'er the fabled fountain hanging ftill; Nor broad carnations, nor gay-spotted pinks;
Nor, shower'd from every bush, the damask-rose.
Infinite numbers, delicacies, fmelis,
With hues on hues expreffion cannot paint, The breath of Nature, and her endless bloom. Hail, Source of Being! Univerfal Soul Of heaven and earth! Effential Presence, hail! To Thee I bend the knee; to Thee my thoughts, 555 Continual, climb; who, with a master-hand, Haft 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:
By Thee difpos'd into congenial foils,
Stands each attractive plant, and fucks, and swells The juicy tide; a twining mafs of tubes.
At Thy command the vernal fun awakes
The torpid fap, detruded to the root
By wintery winds; that now in fluent dance,
And lively fermentation, mounting, spreads All this innumerous-colour'd fcene of things. As rifing from the vegetable world
My theme afcends, with equal wing'afcend, My panting Mufe; and hark, how loud the woods Invite you forth in all your gayeft trim.
Lend me your fong, ye nightingales! oh! pour The mazy-running foul of melody
varied verfe! while I deduce,
From the first note the hollow cuckoo fings,
The fymphony of Spring, and touch a theme
Unknown to fame, the Paffion of the groves.
When firft the foul of love is fent abroad,
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