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Such within ourselves we hear
Beneath the concave of an April sky,
Suddenly raised by some Enchanter's power,
Beneath the shadow of his purple wings Rested a golden Harp; -- he touch'd the strings ; And, after prelude of unearthly sound Poured through the echoing hills around, He sang, “ No wintry desolations, “ Scorching blight, or noxious dew, “ Affect my native habitations; “ Buried in glory, far beyond the scope « Of man's enquiring gaze, and imaged to his hope “ (Alas, how faintly !) in the hue “ Profound of night's ethereal blue; “ And in the aspect of each radiant orb; — “ Some fixed, some wandering with no timid curb ; “ But wandering orb and fixed, to mortal eye, “ Blended in absolute serenity, “ And free from semblance of decline;“ So wills eternal Love, with power divine.
“ And what if his presiding breath
Throughout the bounds of earth and ocean; “ Though all that feeds on nether air, “ Howe'er magnificent or fair, “ Grows but to perish, and entrust “ Its ruins to their kindred dust; “ Yet, by the Almighty's ever-during care, “ Her procreant vigils Nature keeps “ Amid the unfathomable deeps ; “ And saves the peopled fields of earth “ From dread of emptiness or dearth. “ Thus, in their stations, lifting tow'rd the sky “ The foliaged head in cloud-like majesty,. “ The shadow-casting race of Trees survive: “ Thus, in the train of Spring, arrive “ Sweet Flowers ;— what living eye hath viewed “ Their myriads ? - endlessly renewed, “ Wherever strikes the sun's glad ray; “ Where'er the joyous waters stray;
“ Wherever sportive zephyrs bend “ Their course, or genial showers descend ! • Rejoice, O men! the very Angels quit “ Their mansions unsusceptible of change, “ Amid your pleasant bowers to sit, " And through your sweet vicissitudes to range !"
IV. O, nursed at happy distance from the cares Of a too-anxious world, mild pastoral Muse! That, to the sparkling crown Urania wears, And to her sister Clio's laurel wreath, Prefer’st a garland culled from purple heath, Or blooming thicket moist with morning dews ; Was such bright Spectacle vouchsafed to me? And was it granted to the simple ear Of thy contented Votary Such melody to hear ! Him rather suits it, side by side with thee, Wrapped in a fit of pleasing indolence, While thy tired lute hangs on the hawthorn tree, To lie and listen, till o'er-drowsed sense Sinks, hardly conscious of the influence, To the soft murmur of the vagrant Bee.