Mean-time, th' expecting nations, circled gay With all the various tribes of foodful earth, Implore thy bounty, or send grateful up A common hymn: while round thy beaming car, High-seen, the Seasons lead, in sprightly dance Harmonious knit, the rosy-finger'd Hours, The Zephyrs floating loose, the timely Rains, Of bloom ethereal the light-footed Dews, And softened into joy the surly Storms. These, in successive turn, with lavish hand, Shower every beauty, every fragrance shower, Herbs, flowers, and fruits; till, kindling at thy touch, From land to land is flush'd the vernal year.
Nor to the surface of enliven'd earth, Graceful with hills and dales, and leafy woods, Her liberal tresses, is thy force confined: But, to the bowel'd cavern darting deep, The mineral kinds confess thy mighty power. Effulgent, hence the veiny marble shines; Hence labour draws his tools; hence burnish'd War Gleams on the day; the nobler works of Peace Hence bless mankind, and generous Commerce binds The round of nations in a golden chain.
The unfruitful rock itself, impregn'd by thee,
In dark retirement forms the lucid stone. The lively Diamond drinks thy purest rays, Collected light, compact; that, polish'd bright, And all its native lustre let abroad, Dares, as it sparkles on the fair one's breast, With vain ambition emulate her eyes.
At thee the Ruby lights its deepening glow, And with a waving radiance inward flames. From thee the Saphire, solid ether, takes Its hue cerulean; and, of evening tinct, The purple-streaming Amethyst is thine. With thy own smile the yellow-Topaz burns. Nor deeper verdure dyes the robe of Spring, When first she gives it to the southern gale, Than the green Emerald shows. But, all combin'd Thick thro' the whitening Opal play thy beams; Or, flying several from its surface, form A trembling variance of revolving hues, As the site varies in the gazer's hand. The very dead creation, from thy touch, Assumes a mimic life. By thee refin'd, In brighter mazes the relucent stream Plays o'er the mead. The precipice abrupt, Projecting horror on the blackened flood,
Softens at thy return. The desart joys Wildly, thro' all his melancholy bounds. Rude ruins glitter; and the briny deep, Seen from some pointed promontory's top, Far to the blue horizon's utmost verge, Restless, reflects a floating gleam. But this, And all the much-transported Muse can sing, Are to thy beauty, dignity, and use, Unequal far; great delegated source
Of light, and life, and grace, and joy below! How shall I then attempt to sing of Him
Who, Light Himself, in uncreated light Invested deep, dwells awfully retir'd From mortal eye, or angel's purer ken? Whose single smile has, from the first of time, Fill'd, overflowing, all those lamps of Heaven, That beam for ever thro' the boundless sky: But, should he hide his face, th' astonish'd sun, And all the extinguish'd stars, would loosening reel Wide from their spheres, and Chaos come again. And yet was every faultering tongue of Man, Almighty Father! silent in thy praise, Thy Works themselves would raise a general voice, Even in the depth of solitary woods
By human foot untrod; proclaim thy power, And to the quire celestial Thee resound,
Th' eternal cause, support, and end of all.
To me be Nature's volume broad-display'd;
And to peruse its ill-instructing page, Or, haply catching inspiration thence, Some easy passage, raptur'd, to translate, My sole delight; as thro' the falling glooms Pensive I stray, or with the rising dawn On Fancy's eagle-wing excursive soar.
Now, flaming up the heavens, the potent sun Melts into limpid air the high-rais'd clouds, And morning fogs, that hovered round the hills In party-colour'd bands; till wide unveil'd The face of Nature shines, from where earth seems, Far-stretch'd around, to meet the bending sphere. Half in a blush of clustering roses lost, Dew-dropping Coolness to the shade retires; There, on the verdant turf, or flowery bed, By gelid founts and careless rills to muse; While tyrant Heat, dispreading thro' the sky, With rapid sway, his burning influence darts On Man, and beast, and herb, and tepid stream. Who can unpitying see the flowery race,
Shed by the morn, their new-flush'd bloom resign, Before the parching beam? So fade the fair, When fevers revel thro' their azure veins.
But one, the lofty follower of the sun, Sad when he sets, shuts up her yellow leaves, Drooping all night; and, when he warm returns, Points her enamour'd bosom to his ray.
Home, from his morning task, the swain retreats; His flock before him stepping to the fold : While the full-udder'd mother lows around The chearful cottage, then expecting food, The food of innocence, and health! The Daw, The rook and magpie, to the grey-grown oaks That the calm village in their verdant arms, Sheltering, embrace, direct their lazy flight; Where on the mingling boughs they sit embower'd, All the hot noon, till cooler hours arise. Faint, underneath, the houshold fowls convene; And, in a corner of the buzzing shade, The house-dog, with the vacant greyhound, lies, Out-stretch'd, and sleepy. In his slumbers one Attacks the nightly thief, and one exults O'er hill and dale; till, wakened by the wasp, They starting snap. Nor shall the Muse disdain
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