Holds multitudes. But chief the foreft-boughs, That dance unnumber'd to the playful breeze, The downy orchard, and the melting pulp Of mellow fruit, the nameless nations feed Of evanefcent infects. Where the pool Stands mantled o'er with green, invifible, Amid the floating verdure millions ftray. Each liquid too, whether it pierces, fooths, Inflames, refreshes, or exalts the taste,
With various forms abounds. Nor is the stream
Of pureft crystal, nor the lucid air,
Tho' one transparent vacancy it seems,
Void of their unfeen people. These, conceal'd By the kind art of forming HEAVEN, escape The groffer eye of Man: for, if the worlds In worlds inclos'd should on his fenfes burst, From cates ambrofial, and the nectar'd bowl, He would abhorrent turn; and in dead night, When filence fleeps o'er all, be ftun'd with noise.
LET no prefuming impious railer tax CREATIVE WISDOM, as if aught was form'd In vain, or not for admirable ends.
Shall little haughty ignorance pronounce
His works unwife, of which the smallest part Exceeds the narrow vifion of her mind?
As if upon a full-proportion'd dome,
On fwelling columns heav'd, the pride of art!
A critic-fly, whose feeble ray scarce spreads An inch around, with blind prefumption bold, Should dare to tax the structure of the whole. And lives the Man, whofe univerfal eye
Has swept at once th' unbounded scheme of things; Mark'd their dependance fo, and firm accord,
As with unfaultering accent to conclude That This availeth nought? Has any feen The mighty chain of beings, leffening down From INFINITE PERFECTION to the brink Of dreary Nothing, defolate abyfs!
From which aftonish'd thought, recoiling, turns? Till then alone let zealous praise ascend, And hymns of holy wonder, to that POWER, Whose wisdom fhines as lovely on our minds, As on our fmiling eyes his fervant-fun.
THICK in yon ftream of light, a thousand ways, Upward, and downward, thwarting, and convolv'd, 340 The quivering nations fport; till, tempeft-wing'd, Fierce Winter sweeps them from the face of day. Even fo luxurious men, unheeding, pafs An idle fummer-life in fortune's shine, A feafon's glitter! Thus they flutter on
From toy to toy, from vanity to vice; Till, blown away by death, oblivion comes Behind, and strikes them from the book of life.
Now fwarms the village o'er the jovial mead: The ruftic youth, brown with meridian toil, Healthful, and strong; full as the summer-rose Blown by prevailing funs, the ruddy maid, Half naked, fwelling on the fight, and all Her kindled graces burning o'er her cheek. Even stooping age is here; and infant-hands Trail the long rake, or, with the fragrant load O'ercharg'd, amid the kind oppreffion roll. Wide flies the tedded grain; all in a row Advancing broad, or wheeling round the field, 'They spread the breathing harvest to the fun, That throws refreshful round a rural smell: Or, as they rake the green-appearing ground, And drive the dusky wave along the mead, The ruffet hay-cock rifes thick behind,
In order gay. While heard from dale to dale, 365 Waking the breeze, refounds the blended voice Of happy labour, love, and focial glee.
OR rushing thence, in one diffufive band, They drive the troubled flocks, by many a dog Compell'd, to where the mazy-running brook Forms a deep pool: this bank abrupt and high, And That fair-fpreading in a pebbled shore. Urg'd to the giddy brink, much is the tail, The clamour much of men, and boys, and dogs,
Ere the foft fearful people to the flood
Commit their woolly fides. And oft the fwain,
On fome impatient feizing, hurls them in: Embolden'd then, nor hesitating more,
Faft, faft, they plunge amid the flashing wave,
And panting labour to the farther shore. Repeated this, till deep the well-wash'd fleece
Has drunk the flood, and from his lively haunt
The trout is banisfi'd by the fordid stream;
Heavy, and dripping, to the breezy brow Slow-move the harmlefs race: where, as they spread Their fwelling treasures to the funny ray, Inly difturb'd, and wondering what this wild Outrageous tumult means, their loud complaints The country fill; and, tofs'd from rock to rock, Inceffant bleatings run around the hills. At last, of fnowy white, the gather'd flocks Are in the wattled pen innumerous prefs'd, Head above head; and, rang'd in lufty rows The shepherds fit, and whet the founding fhears. The housewife waits to roll her fleecy stores, With all her gay-dreft maids attending round. One, chief, in gracious dignity inthron'd, Shines o'er the reft, the paftoral queen, and rays Her fmiles, fweet-beaming, on her shepherd-king; While the glad circle round them yield their fouls 400 To feftive mirth, and wit that knows no gall. Meantime, their joyous task goes on apace:
Some mingling ftir the melted tar, and some, Deep on the new-fhorn vagrant's heaving fide, To ftamp his master's cypher ready stand; Others th' unwilling wether drag along, And, glorying in his might, the sturdy boy Holds by the twifted horns th' indignant ram. Behold where bound, and of its robe bereft, By needy Man, that all-depending lord, How meek, how patient, the mild creature lies! What softness in its melancholy face, What dumb complaining innocence appears! Fear not, ye gentle tribes, 'tis not the knife Of horrid flaughter that is o'er you wav'd; No, 'tis the tender fwain's well-guided fhears, Who having now, to pay his annual care, Borrow'd your fleece, to you a cumbrous load, Will fend you bounding to your hills again.
A fimple scene! yet hence BRITANNIA fees 420 Her folid grandeur rife: hence she commands Th' exalted stores of every brighter clime, The treasures of the Sun without his rage: Hence, fervent all, with culture, toil, and arts, Wide glows her land: her dreadful thunder hence 425 Rides o'er the waves fublime, and now, even now, Impending hangs o'er Gallia's humbled coaft; Hence rules the circling deep, and awes the world.
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