Had left the dungeon of eternal night,
Till black with thunder all the South defcends, adorod & Scarce in a fhow'rlefs day the heavens indulge Our melting clime; except the baleful Eaft Withers the tender fpring, and fourly checks The fancy of the year. Our fathers talk Of fummers, balmy airs, and fkies ferene.' Good Heaven! for what unexprated crimes This difmal change! The brooding elements Do they, your pow'rful minifters of wrath, Prepare fome fierce exterminating plague ? Or is it fix'd in the decrees above
That lofty Albion melt into the main ? Indulgent nature! O diffolve this gloom! Bind in eternal adamant the winds
That drown or wither: give the genial Weft To breathe, and in its turn the fprightly North: And may once more the circling feafons rule The year; not mix in ev'ry monstrous day. Meantime, the moift malignity to fhun Of burthen'd fkies, mark where the dry champaign Swells into cheerful hills; where marjoram And thyme, the love of bees, perfume the air; And where the*cynorrhodon with the rofe For fragrance vies; for in the thirfly foil Moft fragrant breathe the aromatic tribes. There bid thy roofs high on the bafking fteep Afcend; there light thy hofpitable fires. And let them fee the winter morn arife; The fummer evening blushing in the weft: b While with umbrageous oaks the ridge behind O'erhung, defends you from the bluft'ring north, And bleak affliction of the peevith caft. Oh! when the growling winds contend, and all The founding forest fluctuates in the form; To fink in warm repofe, and hear the din
* The wild rofe, or that which grows on the common briar.
Howl o'er the fteady battlements, delights Above the luxury of vulgar fleep.
The murmuring rivulet, and the hoarfer ftrain Of waters rufhing o'er the flippery rocks, Will nightly lull you to ambrofial reft. To pleafe the fancy is no trifling good, Where health is ftudied; for whatever moves The mind with calm delight, promotes the juft And natural movements of th'harmonious frame. Befides, the fportive brook for ever shakes The trembling air, that floats from hill to hill, From vale to mountain, with inceffant change Of pureft element, refreshing ftill
Your airy feat, and uninfected gods. Chiefly for this I praife the man who build High on the breezy ridge, whofe lofty fides Th'ethereal deep with endless billows chafes, His purer manfion nor contagious years Shall reach, nor deadly putrid airs annoy.
But may no fogs, from lake or fenny plain, Involve my hiil! and wherefoe'r build; Whether on fun-burnt Epfom, or the plains Wafh'd by the filent Lee; in Chelfea low, Or high Blackheath with wint'ry winds affail'd, Dry be your houfe; but airy more than warm. Elfe ev'ry breath of ruder wind will strike Your tender body thro' with rapid pains; Fierce coughs will teafe you, hoarfenefs bind your voice, Or moift Gravedo load your aching brows. Thefe to defy, and all the fates that dwell In cloifter'd air, tainted with fleaming life, Let lofty cielings grace your ample rooms; And ftill at azure noontide may your dome At ev'ry window drink the liquid sky.
Need we the funny fituation here, And theatres open to the fouth, commend? Here, where the morning's mifty breath infefs More than the torrid noon? How fickly grow,
How pale, the plants in thofe ill-fated vales That, circled round with the gigantic heap Of mountains, never felt, nor ever hope To feel, the genial vigour of the fun! While on the neighb'ring hill the rose inflames The verdant fpring; in virgin beauty blows The tender lily, languifhingly fweet; O'er ev'ry hedge the wanton woodbine roves. And autumn ripens in the fummer's ray. Nor lefs the warmer living tribes demand The fofl'ring fun; whofe energy divine Dwells not in mortal fire ; whofe gen'rous heat Glows thro' the mass of groffer elements, And kindles into life the pond'rous fpheres. Cheer'd by thy kind invigorating warmth, We court thy beams, great majesty of day; If not the foul, the regent of this world, Firft-born of heaven, and only less than God!
ENOUGH of Air. A defert fubject now, Rougher and wilder, rises to my fight. A barren wafte, where not a garland grows To bind the Mufe's brow; not even a proud Stupendous folitude frowns o'er the heath, To roufe a noble horror in the foul: But rugged paths fatigue, and error leads Thro' endless labyrinths the devious feet, Farewel, ethereal fields! the humbler arts Of life; the Table and the homely Gods Demand my fong. Elyfian gales, adieu!
The blood, the fountain whence the spirits flow, The gen'rous ftream that waters ev'ry part, And motion, vigour, and warm life conveys. To every particle that moves or lives;
This vital fluid, through unnumber'd tubes Pour'd by the heart, and to the heart again Refunded; fcourg'd for ever round and round; Enrag'd with heat and toil, at laft forgets Its balmy nature; virulent and thin
It grows; and now, but that a thousand gates Are open to its flight, it would deflroy The parts it cherish'd and repair'd before. Besides, the flexible and tender tubes Melt in the mildest most nectareous tide That ripening nature rolls; as in the ftream Its crumbling banks; but what the vital force Of plaftic fluids hourly batters down, That very force, thofe plaftic particles Rebuild: fo mutable the ftate of man. For this the watchful appetite was given, Daily with fresh materials to repair This unavoidable expence of life, This neceffary waste of flesh and blood. Hence the concoctive pow'rs, with various art, Subdue the cruder elements to chyle; The chyle to blood; the foamy purple tide To liquors, which thro' finer arteries To different parts their winding course pursue; To try new changes, and new forms put on, Or for the public, or fome private ufe.
Nothing fo foreign but th'athletic hind Can labour into blood. The hungry meal Alone he fears, or aliments too thin; By vi'lent pow'rs too eafily fubdued, Too foon expell'd. His daily labour thaws To friendly chyle the moft rebellious mafs That falt can harden, or the fmoke of years; Nor does his gorge the rancid bacon rue, Nor that which Čeftria fends, tenacious paste Of folid milk. But ye of fofter clay, Infirm and delicate! and ye who waste With pale and bloated floth the tedious day !
Avoid the flubborn aliment, avoid The full repaft; and let fagacious age Grow wifer, leffon'd by the dropping teeth.
Half fubtiliz'd to chyle, the liquid food Readieft obeys th'affimilating pow'rs; And foon the tender vegetable mafs
Relents; and foon the young of those that tread The fleadfaft earth, or cleave the green abyfs, Or pathless sky. And if the Steer muft fall, In youth and fanguine vigour let him die; Nor ftay till rigid age or heavy ails Abfolve him ill-requited from the yoke. Some with high forage and luxuriant ease Indulge the veteran ox; but wifer thou, From the bald mountain or the barren downs Expect the flocks by frugal nature fed; A race of purer blood, with exercise Refin'd, and fcanty fare: for, old or young, The ftall'd are never healthy, nor the cramm'd. Not all the culinary arts can tame
To wholesome food th'abominable growth Of reft and gluttony; the prudent taste. Rejects like bane fuch loathsome lusciousness. The languid ftomach curfes even the pure Delicious fat, and all the race of oil:* For more the oily aliments relax
Its feeble tone;" and with the eager lymph (Fond to incorporate with all it meets) Coyly they mix, and fhun with flipp'ry wiles The woo'd embrace. Th'irrefoluble oil, So gentle late and blandifhing, in floods Of rancid bile o'erflows: what tumults hence. What horrors rife, were naufeous to relate. Chufe leaner viands, ye whofe jovial make Too faft the gummy nutriment imbibes : Chufe fober meals, and roufe to active life Your cumbrous clay; nor on th' enfeebling down, Irrefolute, protract the morning hours.
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