A double harvest to the pining swain?

And teach the labouring hand the sweets of toil?
How, by the finest art, the native robe

To weave; how, white as hyperborean snow,
To form the lucid lawn; with venturous oar
How to dash wide the billow; nor look on,
Shamefully passive, while Batavian fleets
Defraud us of the glittering finny swarms,
That heave our friths, and crowd upon our shores;
How all-enlivening trade to rouse, and wing
The prosperous sail, from every growing port,
Uninjured, round the sea-encircled globe;
And thus, in soul united as in name,

Bid Britain reign the mistress of the deep?

VI1 10

Yes, there are such. And full on thee, Argyle,
Her hope, her stay, her darling, and her boast,
From her first patriots and her heroes sprung,
Thy fond imploring country turns her eye;
In thee, with all a mother's triumph, sees
Her every virtue, every grace combined,
Her genius, wisdom, her engaging turn,
Her pride of honour, and her courage tried,
Calm, and intrepid, in the very
throat
Of sulphurous war, on Tenier's dreadful field.
Nor less the palm of peace inwreaths thy brow
For, powerful as thy sword, from thy rich tongue
Persuasion flows, and wins the high debate;
While mix'd in thee combine the charm of youth,

The force of manhood, and the depth of age.
Thee, Forbes, too, whom every worth attends,
As truth sincere, as weeping friendship kind,
Thee, truly generous, and in silence great,
Thy country feels through her reviving arts,
Plann'd by thy wisdom, by thy soul inform'd;
And seldom has she felt a friend like thee.

But see the fading many-colour'd woods, Shade deepening over shade, the country round Imbrown; a crowded umbrage, dusk, and dun, Of every hue, from wan declining green To sooty dark. These now the lonesome Muse, Low-whispering, lead into their leaf-strown walks, And give the Season in its latest view.

Meantime, light-shadowing all, a sober calm Fleeces unbounded ether: whose least wave Stands tremulous, uncertain where to turn The gentle current: while illumined wide, The dewy-skirted clouds imbibe the sun, And through their lucid veil his soften'd force Shed o'er the peaceful world. Then is the time, For those whom Wisdom and whom Nature charm, To steal themselves from the degenerate crowd, And soar above this little scene of things: To tread low-thoughted Vice beneath their feet; To sooth the Passions into peace;

And woo lone

in her silent walks.

Thus solitary, and in pensive guise,
dro, to #Tada sifa -md noɔ

T

Oft let me wander o'er the russet mead, Harifa bok
And through the sadden'd grove, where scarce is heard
One dying strain, to cheer the woodman's toilona 10
Haply some widow'd songster pours his plaint, bu
Far, in faint warblings, through the tawny copse: T
While congregated thrushes, linnets, larks,~ 9H
And each wild throat, whose artless strains so late?
Swell'd all the music of the swarming shades, an
Robb'd of their tuneful souls, now shivering sity edT
On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock; to T
With not a brightness waving o'er their plumes,I
And nought save chattering discord in their note.'C
O let not, aim'd from some inhuman eye, STI - msf
The gun the music of the coming year: 79 292 1.
Destroy; and harmless, unsuspecting harm, b
Lay the weak tribes a miserable prey,

༣

In mingled murder, fluttering on the ground! your whi
The pale descending year, yet pleasing still,
A gentler mood inspires; for now the leaf
Incessant rustles from the mournful groves
Oft startling such as, studious, walk below, yo
And slowly circles through the waving air.
But should a quicker breeze amid the boughs TA
Sob, o'er the sky the leafy deluge streams;

Till choked, and matted with the dreary shower,j 120 15
The forest-walks, at every rising gale, OC INSTA: C
Roll wide the wither'd waste, and whistle bleak. silk
Fled is the blasted verdure of the fields;oly ganiqual
dot "ch has sutiry yoì dord' b'ag¿sws 'T

And, shrunk into their beds, the flowery racer tol O Their sunny robes resign. Elen what remain'd OnA Of stronger fruits falls from the naked tree;div s And woods, fields, gardens, orchards, all around çek The desolated prospect thrills the soul." ~

He comes! he comes! in every breeze the Power Of Philosophic Melancholy comes!

His near approach the sudden starting tear,
The glowing cheek, the mild dejected air,
The soften'd feature, and the beating heart,
Pierced deep with many a virtuous pang, declare.
O'er all the soul his sacred influence breathes!
Inflames imagination; through the breast
Infuses every tenderness; and far

Beyond dim earth exalts the swelling thought.
Ten thousand thousand fleet ideas, such
As never mingled with the vulgar dream,
Crowd fast into the mind's creative eye.
As fast the correspondent passions rise,
As varied, and as high: Devotion raised
To rapture, and divine astonishment;
The love of Nature unconfined, and, chief,
Of human race; the large ambitious wish,
To make them bless'd; the sigh for suffering worth
Lost in obscurity; the noble scorn

Of tyrant pride; the fearless great resolve;
The wonder which the dying patriot draws,
Inspiring glory through remotest time

The' awaken'd throb for virtue and for fame;

L

The sympathies of love, and friendship dear;
With all the social offspring of the heart.*

་

Oh! bear me then to vast embowering shades,
To twilight groves, and visionary vales;
To weeping grottoes, and prophetic glooms;
Where angel forms athwart the solemn dusk
Tremendous sweep, or seem to sweep along;
And voices more than human, through the void ·
Deep-sounding, seize the' enthusiastic ear!!,

Or is this gloom too much? Then lead, ye powers, That o'er the garden and the rural seat

Preside, which shining through the cheerful land.
In countless numbers bless'd Britannia sees;
O lead me to the wide extended walks,
The fair majestic paradise of Stowe*!
Not Persian Cyrus on Ionia's shore......

E'er saw such silvan scenes; such various art
By genius fired, such ardent genius tamed
By cool judicious art; that, in the strife,
All-beauteous Nature fears to be outdone, F
And there, O Pitt, thy country's early boast,
There let me sit beneath the shelter'd slopes,
Or in that Templet where, in future times, rost
Thou well shalt merit a distinguish'd name;
And, with thy converse bless'd, catch the last smiles
Of Autumn beaming o'er the yellow woods.co

Monserrer lind Flew froy dance& ad I The seat of Lord Cobham,obre b'rs, aet ydł + The Temple of Virtue in Stowe Gardens.