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Of growth luxuriant ; or the humid bank,
In fair profufion, decks. Long let us walk,
Where the breeze blows from yon extended field
Of blossom'd beans. Arabia cannot boast
A fuller gale of joy, than, liberal, thence
Breathes thro’ the sense, and takes the ravish'd soul.
Nor is the mead unworthy of thy foot,
Full of fresh verdure, and unnumber'd lowers,
The negligence of Nature, wide, and wild ;
Where, undisguis’d by mimic Art, she fpreads
Unbounded beauty to the roving eye.
Here their delicious talk the fervent bees,
In swarming millions, tend : around, athwart,
Thro' the soft air, the busy nations fly,
Cling to the bud, and, with inserted tube,
Suck its pure effence, its ethereal foul;
And oft, with bolder wing, they foaring dare
The purple heath, or where the wild thyme grows,
And yellow load them with the luscious spoil.

At length the finish'd garden to the view
Its vistas

and its alleys green. Snatch'd thro' the verdant maze, the hurried eye Distracted wanders ; now the bowery walk Of covert close, where scarce a speck of day Falls on the lengthen’s gloom, protracted sweeps.

Now meets the bending sky; the river now
Dimpling along, the breezy ruffled lake,
The forest darkening round, the glittering spire,
Th' ethereal mountain, and the distant main.
But why so far excursive? when at hand,
Along these blushing borders, bright with dew,
And in yon mingled wilderness of flowers,
Fair-handed Spring unbofoms every grace ;
Throws out the snow-drop, and the crocus first ;
The daisy, primrose, violet darkly blue,
And polyanthus of unnumber'd dyes ;
The yellow wall-flower, stain'd with iron brown ;
And lavish stock, that scents the garden round;
From the soft wing of vernal breezes shed,
Anemonies ; auriculas, enrich'd
With fhining meal o'er all their velvet leaves;
And full ranunculas, of glowing red.
Then comes the tulip-race, where Beauty plays
Her idle freaks ; from family diffus'd
To family, as flies the father-dust,
The varied colours run; and, while the break
On the charm’d eye, th' exulting florist marks,
With secret pride, the wonders of his hand.
No gradual bloom is wanting; from the bud,
First-born of Spring, to Summer's mulky tribes :

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Nor hyacinths, of pureft virgin white,
Low-bent, and blushing inward ; nor jonquils,
of potent fragrance ; nor Narciffus fair,
As o'er the fabled fountain hanging still ;
Nor broad carnations, nor gay-spotted pinks;
Nor, shower'd from every bush, the damask-rose.
Infinite numbers, delicacies, smells,
With hues on hues expression cannot paint,
The breath of Nature, and her endless bloom.

Of heaven and earth! ESSENTIAL PRESENCE, hail !
To Thee I bend the knee ; to Thee my thoughts,
Continual, climb; who, with a master-hand,
Haft the great whole into perfection touch'a.
By Thee the various vegetative tribes,
Wrapt in a filmy net, and clad with leaves,
Draw the live ether, and imbibe the dew :
By The e dispos'd into congenial soils,
Stands each attractive plant, and sucks, and swells
The juicy tide; a twining mass of tubes.
At Thy command the vernal sun awakes
The torpid sap, detruded to the root
By wint'ry winds ; that now in fluent dance,
And lively fermentation, mounting, spreads
All this innumerous-coloured scene of things.

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As rising from the vegetable world
My theme ascends, with equal wing ascend,
My panting Muse; and hark, how loud the woods

you forth in all your gayest trim.
Lend me your song, ye nightingales! Oh pour
The mazy-running foul of melody
Into varied verse! while I deduce,
From the first note the hollow cuckoo sings,
The symphony of Spring, and touch a theme
Unknown to fame, the Pasion of the groves.

When first the foul of love is sent abroad,
Warm thro' the vital air, and on the heart
Harmonious feizes, the gay troops begin,
In gallant thought, to plume the painted wing;
And try again the long-forgotten strain,
At first faint-warbled. But no sooner

The soft infufion prevalent, and wide,
Than, all alive, at once their joy o'erflows
In music unconfin'd. Up springs the lark,
Shrill-voic'd, and loud, the messenger of morn;
Ere yet the shadows fly, he mounted sings
Amid the dawning clouds, and from their haunts
Calls up the tuneful nations. Every copfe
Deep-tangled, tree irregular, and bush
Bending with dewy moisture, o'er the heads

Of the coy quirifters that lodge within,
Are prodigal of harmony. The thrush
And wood-lark, o'er the kind-contending throng
Superior heard, run thro' the sweetest length
Of notes; when liftening Philomela deigns
To let them joy, and purposes, in thought,
Elate, to make her night excel their day.
The black-bird whistles froin the thorny brake;
The mellow bullfinch answers from the grove :
Nor are the linnets, o'er the flowering furze
Pourd out profusely, silent. Join'd to these
Innumerous fongsters, in the freshening shade
Of new.sprung leaves, their modulations mix
MelliAuous. The jay, the rook, the daw,
And each harsh pipe, discordant heard alone,
Aid the full concert : while the stock-dove breathes
A melancholy murmur thro’ the whole. -

'Tis love creates their melody, and all
This waste of music is the voice of love ;
That even to birds, and beasts, the tender arts
Of pleasing teaches. Hence the gloffy kind
Try every winning way inventive love
Can dictate, and in courtship to their mates
Pour forth their little fouls. First, wide around,
With diftant awe, in airy rings they rove,

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