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Holds multitudes. But chief the forest-boughs,
That dance unnumber'd to the playful breeze,
The downy orchard, and the melting pulp
Of mellow fruit, the nameless nations feed
Of evanescent insects. Where the pool 300
Stands mantled o'er with green, invisible,
Amid the foating verdure millions stray.
Each liquid too, whether it pierces, fooths,
Inflames, refreshes, or exalts the taste,
With various forms abounds. Nor is the stream 305
Of purest crystal, nor the lucid air,
Tho' one transparent vacancy it seems,
Void of their unseen people. These, conceal'd
By the kind art of forming Heaven, escape
The grosser eye of Man : for, if the worlds
in worlds inclos'd should on his senses burst,
From cates ambrofial, and the nectar'd bowl,
He would abhorrent turn ; and in dead night,
When filence sleeps o'er all, be ftun'd with noise.



LET NO presuming 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 vision of her mind ?
As if upon a full-proportion'd dome,
On swelling columns heav'd, the pride of art!



A critic-fly, whose feeble ray scarce spreads
An inch around, with blind presumption bold,
Should dare to tax the structure of the whole.

And lives the Man, whose universal eye
Has swept at once th’ unbounded scheme of things ;
Mark'd their dependance so, and firm accord,
As with unfaultering accent to conclude
That This availeth nought? Has any feen 33
The mighty chain of beings, lessening down
Of dreary Nothing, desolate abyss !
From which astonish'd thought, recoiling, turns ?
Till then alone let zealous praise ascend,

335 And hymns of holy wonder, to that POWER, Whose wisdom shines as lovely on our minds, As on our smiling eyes his servant-fun.

Thick in yon stream of light, a thousand ways, Upward, and downward, thwarting, and convolv'd, 340 The quivering nations sport; till, tempeft-wing'd, Fierce Winter sweeps them from the face of day, Even so luxurious men, unheeding, pass An idle summer-life in fortune's shine, A season's glitter! Thus they flutter on

345 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 swarms the village o'er the jovial mead: The rustic youth, brown with meridian toil, 350 Healthful, and strong; full as the summer-rose Blown by prevailing suns, the ruddy maid, Half naked, swelling on the sight, and all Her kindled graces burning o'er her cheek. Even stooping age is here; and infant-hands

355 Trail the long rake, or, with the fragrant load O’ercharg'd, amid the kind oppression roll. Wide fies the tedded grain; all in a row Advancing broad, or wheeling round the field, They spread the breathing harvest to the sun, That throws refresh ful round a rural smell: Or, as they rake the green-appearing ground, And drive the dusky wave along the mead, The ruffet hay-cock rises thick behind, In order gay. While heard from dale to dale, 365 Waking the breeze, resounds the blended voice Of happy labour, love, and social glee.


Or rushing thence, in one diffusive band, They drive the troubled flocks, by many a dog Compellid, to where the mazy-running brook 370 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,


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Ere the soft fearful people to the flood

375 Commit their woolly fides. And oft the fwain, On some impatient seizing, hurls them in: Embolden'd then, nor hesitating more, Fast, fast, they plunge amid the flashing wave, And panting labour to the farther shore.

380 Repeated this, till deep the well-wash'd fleece Has drunk the flood, and from his lively haunt The trout is banish'd by the fordid ftream; Heavy, and dripping, to the breezy brow Slow-move the harmlefs race: where, as they spread Their swelling treasures to the funny ray, Inly disturb'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. 390 At last, of snowy white, the gather'd flocks Are in the wattled pen innumerous press'd, Head above head; and, rang'd in lufty rows The shepherds fit, and whet the founding shears. The housewife waits to roll her fleecy stores, 395 With all her gay-dreft maids attending round. One, chief, in gracious dignity inthron'd, Shines o'er the reft, the pastoral queen, and rays Her smiles, sweet-beaming, on her shepherd-king; While the glad circle round them yield their souls 400 To festivę 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-lhorn vagrant's heaving fide,
To ftamp his master's cypher ready stand; 405
Others th' unwilling wether drag along,
And, glorying in his might, the sturdy boy
Holds by the twisted horns th' indignant ran.
Behold where bound, and of its robe bereft,
By needy Man, that all-depending lord, 410
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 slaughter that is o'er you wav'd; 415
No, 'tis the tender swain's well-guided fhears,
Who having now, to pay his annual care,
Borrow'd your fleece, to you a cumbrous load,
Will send you bounding to your hills again.

A simple scene! yet hence BRITANNIA fees 420 Her folid grandeur rise: 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 coast; Hence rules the circling deep, and awes the world.


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