Who nobly durst, in rhyme-unfetter'd verse,
With British freedom sing the British song: How, from Silurian vats, high-sparkling wines Foam in transparent floods; some strong, to cheer The wintry revels of the labouring hind, And tasteful some, to cool the summer-hours. In this glad season, while his sweetest beams The sun sheds equal o'er the meekened day; Oh lose me in the green delightful walks Of, Dodington, thy seat, serene and plain; Where simple Nature reigns; and every view, Diffusive, spreads the pure Dorsetian downs, In boundless prospect; yonder shagg'd with wood, Here rich with harvest, and there white with flocks ! Mean time the grandeur of thy lofty dome, Far-splendid, seizes on the ravish'd eye. New beauties rise with each revolving day; New columns swell; and still the fresh spring finds New plants to quicken, and new groves to green.
Full of thy genius all! the Muses' seat :
Where in the secret bower, and winding walk, For virtuous Young and thee they twine the bay. Here wandering oft, fir'd with the restless thirst Of thy applause, I solitary court
Th' inspiring breeze: and meditate the book Of Nature ever open; aiming thence, Warm from the heart, to learn the moral song. Here, as I steal along the sunny wall, Where Autumn basks, with fruit empurpled deep, My pleasing theme continual prompts my thought: Presents the downy peach; the shining plum; The ruddy, fragrant nectarine; and dark, Beneath his ample leaf, the luscious fig. The vine too here her curling tendrils shoots; Hangs out her clusters, glowing to the south And scarcely wishes for a warmer sky.
Turn we a moment fancy's rapid flight To vigorous soils, and climes of fair extent; Where, by the potent sun elated high, The vineyard swells refulgent on the day; Spreads o'er the vale; or up the mountain climbs, Profuse; and drinks amid the sunny rocks, From cliff to cliff encreas'd, the heightened blaze; Low bend the weighty boughs. The clusters clear, Half thro' the foliage seen, or ardent flame, Or shine transparent; while perfection breathes White o'er the turgent film the living dew. As thus they brigthen with exalted juice.
Touch'd into flavour by the mingling ray; The rural youth and virgius o'er the field, Each fond for each to cull th' autumnal prime, Exulting rove, and speak the vintage nigh. Then comes the crushing swain; the country floats. And foanıs unbounded with the mashy flood; That by degrees fermented, and refin'd, Round the raised nations pours the cup of joy: The claret smooth, red as the lip we press In sparkling fancy, while we drain the bowl; The mellow-tasted Burgundy; and quick, As is the wit it gives, the gay Champaign. Now, by the cool declining year condens'd, Descend the copious exhalations, check'd As up the middle sky unseen they stole, And roll the doubling fogs around the hill. No more the mountain, horrid, vast, sublime, Who pours a sweep of rivers from his sides, And high between contending kingdoms rears The rocky long division, fills the view With great variety; but in a night Of gathering vapour, from the baffled sense Sinks dark and dreary. Thence expanding far, The huge dusk, gradual, swallows up the plain;
Vanish the woods; the dim-seen river seems Sullen, and slow, to roll the misty wave. Even in the height of noon opprest, the sun Sheds weak, and blunt, his wide-refracted ray; Whence glaring oft, with many a broadened orb He frights the nations. Indistinct on earth, Seen thro' the turbid air, beyond the life Objects appear; and, wilder'd, o'er the vaste The shepherd stalks gigantic. Till at last Wreath'd dun around, in deeper circles still Successive closing, sits the general fog Unbounded o'er the world; and, mingling thicky A formless grey confusion covers all. As when of old (so sung the Hebrew Bard▸ Light, uncollected, thro' the chaos urg'd Its infant way; nor order yet had drawn His lovely train from out the dubious gloom. These roving mists, that constant now begin To smoak along the hilly country, these, With weighty rains, and melted Alpine snows, The mountain-cisterns fill, those ample stores Of water, scoop'd among the hollow rocks; Whence gushthestreams, the ceaseless fountains play, And their unfailing wealth the rivers draw.
Some sages say, that, where the numerous wave
For ever lashes the resounding shore,
Drill'd thro' the sandy stratum, every way, The waters with the sandy stratum rise; Amid whose angles infinitely strain'd, They joyful leave their jaggy salts behind, And clear and sweeten, as they soak along. Nor stops the restless fluid, mounting still, Though oft amidst th' irriguous vale it springs; But to the mountain courted by the sand, That leads it darkling on in faithful maze, Far from the parent-main, it boils again Fresh into day; and all the glittering hill Is bright with spouting rills. But hence this vain Amusive dream! why should the waters love To take so far a journey to the hills, When the sweet valleys offer to their toil Inviting quiet, and a nearer bed? Or if, by blind ambition led astray, They must aspire; why should they sudden stop Among the broken mountain's rushy dells, And, ere they gain its highest peak, desert Th' attractive sand that charm'd their course so long? Besides, the hard agglomerating salts,
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