And liberal eye, fits, from his dark retreat Inviting modeft Want. Nor, till invok'd Can restless goodness wait: your active search Leaves no cold wintery corner unexplor'd; Like filent-working Heaven, furprizing 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 fun fheds his kindest rays for you, Ye flower of human race! In these green days, Reviving Sickness lifts her languid head :
Life flows afresh; and young-ey'd Health exalts The whole creation round. Contentment walks The funny glade, and feels an inward bliss Spring o'er his mind, beyond the power of kings To purchase. Pure ferenity apace Induces thought, and contemplation still.
By fwift degrees the love of Nature works, And warms the bofom; till at laft fublim'd To rapture, and enthusiastic heat, We feel the prefent Deity, and tafte The joy of God to see a happy world!
These are the sacred feelings of thy heart, Thy heart inform'd by reason's purer ray, O Lyttelton the friend! thy paffions thus And meditations vary, as at large,
Courting the Mufe, through Hagley Park thou ftray'ft; Thy British Temple! There along the dale,
With woods o'er-hung, and fhagg'd with mossy rocks,
Whence on each hand the gushing waters play, And down the rough cascade white-dashing fall, Or gleam in lengthen'd vista through the trees, You filent fteal; or fit beneath the fhade Of folemn oaks, that tuft the fwelling mounts Thrown graceful round by Nature's careless hand, And penfive liften to the various voice
Of rural peace: the herds, the flocks, the birds, The hollow-whifpering breeze, the plaint of rills, That, purling down amid the twisted roots Which creep around, their dewy murmurs fhake On the footh'd ear. From these abstracted oft, You wander through the philofophic world; Where in bright train continual wonders rife, Or to the curious or the pious eye. And oft, conducted by historic truth,
You tread the long extent of backward time : Planning, with warm benevolence of mind, And honeft 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, thefe graver thoughts
The Mufes charin: while, with fure tafte refin'd,
You draw th' inspiring breath of ancient fong; Till nobly rifes, emulous, thy own.
Perhaps thy lov'd Lucinda fhares thy walk,
With foul to thine attun'd. Then Nature all'
Wears to the lover's eye a look of love; And all the tumult of a guilty world, Toft by ungenerous paffions, finks
The tender heart is animated peace;
And as it pours its copious treasures forth, In varied converfe, softening every theme, You, frequent paufing, turn, and from her eyes, Where meeken'd fenfe, and amiable grace, And lively fweetnefs dwell, enraptur'd, drink That nameless spirit of ethereal joy,
Unutterable happinefs! which love,
Alone, beftows, and on a favour'd few.
Meantime you gain the height, from whose fair brow The bursting profpect fpreads immenfe around:
And fnatch'd o'er hill and dale, and wood and lawn, And verdant field, and darkening heath between, 950 And villages embofom'd foft in trees,
And fpiry towns by furging columns mark'd
Of houfhold fmoke, your eye excurfive roams : Wide-ftretching from the Hall, in whose kind haunt The Hofpitable Genius lingers still,
To where the broken landskip, by degrees,
Afcending, 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,
Now from the virgin's cheek a fresher bloom
Shoots, lefs and lefs, the live carnation round;
Her lips blush deeper fweets; the breathes of youth; The fhining moisture fwells into her eyes,
In brighter flow; her wishing bofom heaves, With palpitations wild; kind tumults feize Her veins, and all her yielding foul is love. D 2
From the keen gaze her lover turns away, Full of the dear extatic power, and fick With fighing languishment. Ah then, ye fair! Be greatly cautious of your fliding hearts: Dare not th' infectious figh; the pleading look, Downcaft, and low, in meek fubmiffion drest, But full of guile. Let not the fervent tongue, Prompt to deceive, with adulation smooth, Gain on your purpos'd will. Nor in the bower, Where woodbines flaunt, and rofes fhed a couch, While Evening draws her crimson curtains round, Truft your foft minutes with betraying Man.
And let th' afpiring youth beware of love, Of the smooth glance beware; for 'tis too late, When on his heart the torrent-foftnefs pours. Then wisdom proftrate lies, and fading fame Diffolves in air away; while the fond soul, Wrapt in gay vifions of unreal bliss,
Still paints th' illufive form; the kindling grace; Th' inticing fmile; the modeft-feeming eye, Beneath whose beauteous beams, belying heaven, Lurk fearchlefs cunning, cruelty, and death: And still falfe-warbling in his cheated ear, Her fyren voice, enchanting, draws him on To guileful fhores, and meads of fatal joy. Ev'n present, in the very lap of love Inglorious laid; while mufic flows around, Perfumes, and oils, and wine, and wanton hours; 995 Amid the rofes fierce Repentance rears
Her fnaky creft: a quick-returning pang
Shoots through the conscious heart; where honour still, And great defign, against the oppreffive load Of luxury, by fits, impatient heave.
But abfent, what fantastic woes arous'd,
Rage in each thought, by restless musing fed,
Chill the warm cheek, and blaft the bloom of life? Neglected fortune flies; and fliding swift, Prone into ruin, fall his fcorn'd affairs.
'Tis nought but gloom around: the darken'd fun Lofes his light. The rofy-bofom'd Spring To weeping Fancy pines; and yon bright arch, Contracted, bends into a duíky vault.
All Nature fades extinct; and she alone Heard, felt, and feen, poffeffes every thought, Fills every fenfe, and pants in every vein. Books are but formal dulnefs, tedious friends; And fad amid the focial band he fits,
Lonely, and unattentive. From his tongue
Th' unfinish'd period falls: while, borne away On fwelling thought, his wafted fpirit flies To the vain bofom of his diftant fair; And leaves the femblance of a lover, fix'd In melancholy fite, with head declin'd, And love-dejected eyes. Sudden he starts, Shook from his tender trance, and reftlefs runs To glimmering fhades, and fympathetic glooms; Where the dun umbrage o'er the falling ftream, Romantic, hangs; there through the penfive dufk Strays, in heart-thrilling meditation loft,
Indulging all to love: or on the bank
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