Whence the sand flies, they mutter bloody deeds, | Chief, lovely Spring, in thee, and thy soft scenes, And groaning deep, the impetuous battle mix: While the fair heifer, balmy-breathing, near, Stands kindling up their rage. The trembling steed,
With this hot impulse seized in every nerve, 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; O'er rocks, and woods, and craggy mountains flies; And, neighing, on the aerial summit takes The exciting gale; then, steep-descending, cleaves The headlong torrents foaming down the hills, E'en where the madness of the straiten'd stream 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 roused, 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 sublimed, They roam, amid the fury of their heart, The far-resounding waste in fiercer bands, And growl their horrid loves. But this the theme I sing, enraptured, to the British Fair, Forbids, and leads me to the mountain-brow, Where sits the shepherd on the grassy turf, Inhaling, healthful, the descending sun. Around him feeds his many-bleating flock, Of various cadence; and his sportive lambs, This way and that convolved, in friskful glee, Their frolics play. And now the sprightly race Invites them forth; when swift, the signal given, They start away, and sweep the massy mound That runs around the hill; the rampart once Of iron war, in ancient barbarous times,
When disunited Britain ever bled,
Lost in eternal broil: ere yet she grew
To this deep-laid indissoluble state,
The Smiling God is seen; while water, earth, And air attest his bounty; which exalts The brute creation to this finer thought, And annual melts their undesigning hearts Profusely thus in tenderness and joy.
Still let my song a nobler note assume, And sing the infusive force of Spring on man; 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 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 With warmest beam; and on your open front And liberal eye, sits, from his dark retreat Inviting modest Want. Nor, till invoked, Can restless goodness wait: your active search Leaves no cold wintry corner unexplored 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 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, Reviving Sickness lifts her languid head; Life flows afresh; and young-eyed Health exalts 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. By swift degrees the love of Nature works, And warms the bosom; till at last sublimed To rapture, and enthusiastic heat,
Where Wealth and Commerce lift their golden We feel the present Deity, and taste
And o'er our labours, Liberty and Law, Impartial, watch; the wonder of a world!
What is this mighty breath, ye sages, say, That, in a powerful language, felt, not heard, Instructs the fowls of Heaven; and through their breast
These arts of love diffuses? What, but God? Inspiring God! who boundless Spirit all, And unremitting Energy, pervades, Adjusts, sustains, and agitates the whole. He ceaseless works alone; and yet alone Seems not to work: with such perfection framed In this complex stupendous scheme of things. But, though conceal'd, to every purer eye The informing Author in his works appears:
The joy of Gop 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 passions thus And meditations vary, as at large, Courting the Muse, through Hagley Park thou stray'st;
The British Tempé! there along the dale, With woods o'erhung, and shagg'd with mossy
Whence on each hand the gushing waters play, And down the rough cascade white-dashing fall, Or gleam in lengthened vista through the trees, You silent steal; or sit beneath the shade Of solemn oaks, that tuft the swelling mounts Thrown graceful round by Nature's careless hand,
And pensive listen to the various voice Of rural peace: the herds, the flocks, the birds, The hollow-whispering breeze, the plaint of rills, That, purling down amid the twisted roots Which creep around, their dewy murmurs shake On the soothed ear. From these abstracted oft, You wander through the philosophic world; 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, And honest zeal unwarp'd by party rage, Britannia's weal; how from the venal gulf To raise her virtue, and her arts revive.
Or, turning thence thy view, these graver thoughts The Muses charm: while, with sure taste refined, You draw the inspiring breath of ancient song; Till nobly rises, emulous, thy own. Perhaps thy loved Lucinda shares thy walk, With soul to thine attuned. Then Nature all Wears to the lover's eye a look of love; And all the tumult of a guilty world, Tost by ungenerous passions, sinks away, The tender heart is animated peace; And as it pours its copious treasures forth, In varied converse, softening every theme, You, frequent-pausing, turn, and from her eyes, Where meeken'd sense, and amiable grace, And lively sweetness dwell, enraptured, drink That nameless spirit of ethereal joy, Unutterable happiness! which love, Alone, bestows, and on a favour'd few.
Dare not the infectious sigh; the pleading look, Down-cast and low, in meek submission dress'd, But full of guile. Let not the fervent tongue, Prompt to deceive, with adulation smooth, Gain on your purposed 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 the aspiring youth beware of love, Of the smooth glance beware; for 'tis 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, Wrapp'd in gay visions of unreal bliss, Still paints the illusive form; the kindling grace; The enticing smile; the modest-seeming eye, Beneath whose beauteous beams, belying Heaven, Lurk searchless cunning, cruelty, and death: And still false-warbling in his cheated ear, Her siren voice, enchanting, draws him on To guileful shores, and meads of fatal joy. E'en 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 Her snaky crest: a quick returning pang Shoots through the conscious heart; where honour still,
And great design, against the oppressive load Of luxury, by fits, impatient heave.
But absent, what fantastic woes, aroused, Rage in each thought, by restless musing fed, Chill the warm cheek, and blast the bloom of life?
Meantime you gain the height, from whose fair Neglected fortune flies; and sliding swift,
The bursting prospect spreads immense around: And snatch'do'er hill and dale, and wood and lawn, And verdant field, and darkening heath between, 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,
To where the broken landscape, by degrees, Ascending, roughens into rigid hills;
Prone into ruin fall his scorn'd affairs. 'Tis nought but gloom around: the darken'd 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, Heard, felt, and seen, possesses every thought, Fills every sense, and pants in every vein. Books are but formal dulness, tedious friends; And sad amid the social band he sits, Lonely, and unattentive. From his tongue
O'er which the Cambrian mountains, like far clouds The unfinish'd period falls: while borne away
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, less and less, the live carnation round; Her lips blush deeper sweets; she breathes of youth; The shining moisture swells into her eyes, In brighter flow; her wishing bosom heaves, With palpitations wild; kind tumults seize Her veins, and all yer 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! Be greatly cautious of your sliding hearts :
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 declined, 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 through the pensive dusk 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, Nor quits his deep retirement, till the Moon Peeps through 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, With soften'd soul, and woos the bird of eve To mingle woes with his: or, while the world And all the sons of Care lie hush'd in sleep, Associates with the midnight shadows drear; And, sighing to the lonely taper, pours His idly-tortured heart into the page, Meant for the moving messenger of love; Where rapture burns on rapture, every line With rising frenzy fired. But if on bed Delirious flung, sleep from his pillow flies. All night he tosses, nor the balmy power In any posture finds; till the gray Morn Lifts her pale lustre on the paler wretch, Exanimate by love: and then perhaps Exhausted Nature sinks a while to rest, Still interrupted by distracted dreams, That o'er the sick imagination rise, And in black colours paint the mimic scene. Oft with the enchantress of his soul he talks; Sometimes in crowds distress'd; or if retired 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,
Where the whole poison'd soul, malignant, sits, And frightens love away. Ten thousand fears Invented wild, ten thousand frantic views Of horrid rivals, hanging on the charms For which he melts his fondness, eat him up With fervent anguish, and consuming rage. In vain reproaches lend their idle aid, Deceitful pride, and resolution frail, 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, Flames through the nerves, and boils along the veins;
While anxious doubt distracts the tortured heart: For e'en the sad assurance of his fears
Were ease to what he feels. Thus the warm youth,
Whom love deludes into his thorny wilds, Through flowery tempting paths, or leads a life Of fever'd rapture or of cruel care;
His brightest aims extinguish'd all, and all His lively moments running down to waste.
But happy they! the happiest of their kind! Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend. 'Tis not the coarser tie of human laws, Unnatural oft and foreign to the mind, That binds their peace, but harmony itself,
Snatch'd from her yielded hand, he knows not Attuning all their passions into love;
Through forests huge, and long untravel'd heaths With desolation brown, he wanders waste, In night and tempest wrapp'd: or shrinks aghast, Back, from the bending precipice; or wades The turbid stream below, and strives to reach The farther shore; where succourless, and sad, She with extended arms his aid implores; But strives in vain; borne by the outrageous flood To distance down, he rides the ridgy wave, Or whelm'd beneath the boiling eddy sinks.
These are the charming agonies of love, Whose misery delights. But through the heart Should jealousy its venom once diffuse, 'Tis then delightful misery no more, But agony unmix'd incessant gall, 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 Internal vision taints, and in a night Of livid gloom imagination wraps. Ah then! instead of love-enliven'd cheeks, Of sunny features, and of ardent eyes With flowing rapture bright, dark looks succeed, Suffused and glaring with untender fire; A clouded aspect, and a burning cheek,
Where friendship full-exerts her softest power, Perfect esteem enliven'd by desire Ineffable, and sympathy of soul; Thought meeting thought, and will preventing will, With boundless confidence: for nought but love 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, Well-merited, consume his nights and days: Let barbarous nations, whose inhuman love Is wild desire, fierce as the suns they feel; Let eastern tyrants, from the light of Heaven, Seclude their bosom-slaves, meanly possess'd 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? Who in each other clasp whatever fair High fancy forms, and lavish hearts can wish; Something than beauty dearer, should they look Or on the mind, or mind-illumin'd face; Truth, goodness, honour, harmony, and love, 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, 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, To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind, To breathe the 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, 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, Progressive virtue, and approving Heaven! These are the matchless joys of virtuous love; And thus their moments fly. The Seasons thus,
As ceaseless round a jarring world they roll, Still find them happy; and consenting Spring 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, Together down they sink in social sleep; Together freed, their gentle spirits fly To scenes where love and bliss immortal reign
Jam clarus occultum Andromeda pater Ostendit ignem: jam Procyon furit, Et stella vesani Leonis,
Sole dies referente siccos.
Jam pastor umbras cum grege languido, Rivumque fessus quærit, et horridi Dumeta Sylvani: caretque
Ripa vagis taciturna ventis.-Hor.
The subject proposed. Invocation. Address to Mr. Dodington. An introductory 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. Sunrising. Hymn to the Sun. Forenoon. Summer Insects described. Haymaking. Sheepshearing. Noonday. A Woodland 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. Sunset. Evening. Night. Summer Meteors. A Comet. The whole concluding with the praise of Philosophy.
fluous in itself, for what reader need be told of those great abilities in the management of public affairs, and those amiable accomplishments in private life, which you so eminently possess. The general voice is loud in the praise of so many virtues, though posterity alone will do them justice. But may you, Sir, live long to illustrate your own fame by your own actions, and by them be transmitted to future times as the British Mæcenas!
It is not my purpose, in this address, to run into the common tract of dedicators, and attempt a panegyric which would prove ungrateful to you, Your example has recommended poetry with too arduous for me, and superfluous with regard the greatest grace to the admiration of those who to the world. To you it would prove ungrateful, are engaged in the highest and most active scenes since there is a certain generous delicacy in men of life: and this, though confessedly the least of the most distinguished merit, disposing them considerable of those exalted qualities that dignify to avoid those praises they so powerfully attract. your character, must be particularly pleasing to And when I consider that a character in which one whose only hope of being introduced to your the virtues, the graces, and the muses join their regard is through the recommendation of an art influence as much exceeds the expression of the in which you are a master. But I forget what I most elegant and judicious pen, as the finished have been declaring above; and must, therefore, beauty does the representation of the pencil, I turn my eyes to the following sheets. I am not ighave the best reasons for declining such an ardu-norant that, when offered to your perusal, they are ous undertaking. As, indeed, it would be super-put into the hands of one of the finest and, con
Minutely faithful: such the All-perfect hand! That poised, impels, and rules the steady whole. When now no more the alternate Twins are fired,
sequently, the most indulgent judges of the age: but, as there is no mediocrity in poetry, so there should be no limits to its ambition. I venture directly on the trial of my fame. If what I here present you has any merit to gain your approba- And Cancer reddens with the solar blaze, tion, I am not afraid of its success; and if it fails Short is the doubtful empire of the night; of your notice, I give it up to its just fate. This And soon, observant of approaching day, advantage, at least, I secure to myself, an occasion | The meek-eyed morn appears, mother of dews, of thus publicly declaring that I am, with the At first faint-gleaming in the dappled east: profoundest veneration,
Sir, your most devoted,
Humble servant, JAMES THOMSON.
FROM brightening fields of ether fair disclosed, Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes, In pride of youth, and felt through Nature's depth: He comes attended by the sultry Hours, And ever fanning breezes, on his way; 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 sunbeam wanders through the gloom:
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.
Come, Inspiration! from thy hermit-seat, By mortal seldom found: may Fancy dare, From thy fix'd serious eye, and raptured glance Shot on surrounding Heaven, to steal one look Creative of the Poet, every power Exalting to an ecstasy of soul.
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 chastised; goodness and wit, 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, And teach me to deserve thy just applause.
With what an awful world-revolving power Were first the unwieldy planets launch'd along The illimitable void! thus to remain, Amid the flux of many thousand years, 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, And of the seasons ever stealing round,
Till far o'er ether spreads the widening glow And, from before the lustre of her face, White break the clouds away. With quicken'd
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. Blue, through 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 The native voice of undissembled joy; And thick around the woodland hymns arise. Roused by the cock, the soon-clad shepherd leaves His mossy cottage, where with Peace he dwells; And from the crowded fold, in order, drives 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?
For is there ought in sleep can charm the wise? To lie in dead oblivion, losing half The fleeting moments of too short a life; Total extinction of the enlightened soul' Or else to feverish vanity alive,
Wilder'd, and tossing through 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?
But yonder comes the powerful King of Day, Rejoicing in the east. The lessening cloud, The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow Illumed with fluid gold, his near approach Betoken glad. Lo! now, apparent all, 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 towers, and wandering
High gleaming from afar. Prime cheerer, Light! 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 Shines out thy Maker! may I sing of theo?
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