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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 bre
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, fits, from his dark retreat
Inviting modeft Want. Nor, till invok'd
Can restless goodness wait ; your active search
Leaves no cold wint’ry corner unexplor'd;
Like filent-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-ey'd Health exalts

The whole creation round. Contentment walks
The funny 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 sublim'd
To rapture, and enthusiastic heat,
We feel the present Deity, and taste
The joy of God 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, thro' Hagley Park thou strayeft ;
Thy British Tempe'! There along the dale,
With woods o'erhung, and shagg’d with mossy rocks,
Whence on each hand the gushing waters play,
And down the rough cascade white-dashing fall,
Or gleam in lengthened vista thro' the trees,
You filent steal; or fit beneath the shade
Of folemn oaks, that tuft the swelling mounts
Thrown graceful round by Nature's careless hand,
And penfive listen to the various voice
Of ruling 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 footh'd ear. From these abftracted oft,
You wander thro' the philofophic 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 honeft zeal unwarp'd by party-rage,
BRITANNIA's weal; how from the venal gulph
To raise her virtue, and her arts revive.
Or, turning thence thy view, these graver thoughts
The Mufes charm : while, with sure taste refin'd,
You draw th' inspiring breath of ancient song ;
Till nobly rises, emulous, thy own,
Perhaps thy lov'd Lucinda shares thy walk,
With foul to thine attun'd. Then Nature all
Wears to the lover's eye a look of love ;
And all the tumult of a guilty world,
Toss’d by ungenerous paffions, finks 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 meekened sense, and amiable grace,
And lively sweetness dwell, enraptur’d, drinks
That nameless spirit of ethereal joy,
Unutterable happiness ! which love,
Alone, bestows, and on a favour'd few.
Meantime you gain the height, from whose fair brow
The bursting prospect spreads immenfe around:
And snatch'd o'er hill and dale, and wood and lawn,
And verdant field, and darkening heath between,
And villages embofom'd soft in trees,
And spiry towns by furging columns mark'd
Of houshold 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 ;
O'er which the Cambrian mountains, like far clouds
That skirt the blue horizon, dusky rife.

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 her yielding soul is love.
From the keen gaze her lover turns away,
Full of the dear ecstatic power, and sick
With fighing languishment. Ah then, ye fair!
Be greatly cautious of your sliding hearts :
Dare not th' infectious figh; the pleading look,
Downcast, and low, in meek submission drest,
But full of guile. Let not the fervent tongue,
Prompt to deceive, with adulation smooth,
Gain on your purpos'd will. Nor in the bower,
Where woodbinds flaunt, and roses shed a couch,
While Evening draws her crimson curtains round,
Trust your soft minutes with betraying Man,

And let th' aspiring youth beware of love, Of the smooth glance beware ; for 'tis too late, When on his heart the torrent foftness

poura. Then wisdom prostrate lies, and fading famę Diffolves in air away ; while the fond soul, Wrapt in

gay

visions of unreal bliss, Still paints th' illufive form; the kindling grace ; Th'inticing smile; the modeft-feeming eye, Beneath whose beauteous beams, belying heaven, Lurk searchless cunning, cruelty, and death : And still false-warbling in his cheated ear,

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