Spring

COME, gentle Spring, æthereal Mildness, come;And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud,While music wakes around, veil'd in a showerOf shadowing roses, on our plains descend!

O Hartford, fitted, or to shine in courts5With unaffected grace, or walk the plainWith innocence and meditation join'dIn soft assemblage, listen to my song,Which thy own Season paints! when Nature allIs blooming, and benevolent like thee.10

And see where surly Winter passes off,Far to the north and calls his ruffian blasts:His blasts obey and quit the howling hill,The shatter'd forest, and the ravag'd vale;While softer gales succeed, at whose kind touch,15Disolving snows in livid torrents lost,The mountains lift their green heads to the sky.

As yet the trembling year is unconfirm'd,And Winter oft at eve resumes the breeze,Chills the pale morn, and bids his driving sleets20Deform the day delightless; so that scarce

The Bittern knows his time, with bill ingulpht,To shake the sounding marsh; or from the shoreThe Plover when to scatter o'er the heath,And sing their wild notes to the listening waste.25

At last from Aries rolls the bounteous sun,And the bright Bull receives him. Then no moreTh' expansive atmosphere is cramp'd with cold;But, full of life, and vivifying soul,Lifts the light clouds sublime, and spreads them thin,30Fleecy, and white, o'er all-surrounding heaven.

Forth fly the tepid airs; and unconfin'd,Unbinding earth, the moving softness strays.Joyous th'impatient husbandman perceivesRelenting nature, and his lusty steers35Drives from their stalls, to where the well-us'd plowLies in the furrow, loosen'd from the frost.There, unrefusing to the harness'd yoke,They lend their shoulder, and begin their toil,Chear'd by the simple song and soaring lark.40Meanwhile, incumbent o'er the shining share,The master leans, removes th' obstructing clay,Winds the whole work, and sidelong lays the glebe.

White, thro' the neighbouring fields the sower stalks,With measur'd step; and liberal throws the grain45Into the faithful bosom of the ground.The harrow follows harsh, and shuts the scene.

Be gracious, Heaven! For now laborious manHas done his part. Ye fostering breezes, blow!Ye softening dews, ye tender showers, descend!50And temper all, thou world-reviving sun,Into the perfect year! Nor ye, who liveIn luxury and ease, in pomp and pride,

Think these low scenes unworthy of your ear:Such themes as these the rural Maro sung55To wide-imperial Rome, in the full heightOf elegance and taste, by Grece refin'd.In ancient times, the sacred plow employ’dThe kings and awful fathers of mankind:And some, with whom compar’d, your insect-tribes60Are but the beings of a summer's day,Have held the scale of empire, rul'd the stormOf mighty war; then, with unwearied hand,Disdaining little delicacies, seiz'dThe plow, and greatly independent liv'd.65

Ye generous Britons, venerate the plough!And o'er your hills, and long withdrawing vales,Let Autumn spread his treasures to the sun,Luxuriant, and unbounded! As the sea,Far thro' his azure turbulent domain,70Your empire owns, and from a thousand shoresWafts all the pomp of life into your ports;So with superior boon may your rich soil,Exuberant, Nature's better blessings pourO'er every land, the naked nations cloathe,75And be th' exhaustless granary of a world!

Nor thro' the lenient air this change,Delicious, breathes; the penetrative sun,His force deep-darting to the dark retreatOf vegetation, sets the steaming Power80At large, to wander o'er the vernant earth,In various hues; but chiefly thee, gay Green!Thou smiling Nature's universal robe!United light and shade! where the sight dwellsWith growing strength, and ever-new delight.85

From the moist meadow to the withered hill,Led by the breeze, the vivid verdure runs,And swells, and deepens, to the cherish'd eye.The hawthorn whitens; and the juicy grovesPut forth their buds, unfolding by degrees,90Till the whole leafy forest stands display'd,In full luxuriance, to the sighing gales:While the deer rustle thro' the twining brake,And the birds sing conceal'd. At once, array'dIn all the colours of the flushing year,95By nature's swift and secret-working hand,The garden glows, and fills the liberal airWith lavish fragrance; while the promis'd fruitLies yet a little embryo, unperceiv'd,Within its crimson folds. Now from the town100Buried in smoke, and sleep, and noisom damps,Oft let me wander o'er the dewy fields,Where freshness breathes, and dash the trembling dropsFrom the bent bush, as thro' the verdant mazeOf sweet-briar hedges I pursue my walk:105Or taste the smell of dairy; or ascendSome eminence, Augusta, in thy plains,And see the country far-diffus'd around,One boundless blush, one white-empurpled show'rOf mingled blossoms; where the raptured eye110Hurries from joy to joy, and, hid beneathThe fair profusion, yellow Autumn spies.

If brush'd from Russian wilds, a cutting galeRise not, and scatter from his humid wingsThe clammy mildew; or dry-blowing, breathe115Untimely frost; before whose baleful blastThe full-blown Spring thro' all her foliage shrinks,Joyless and dead, a wide-dejected waste.

For oft, engender'd by the hazy North,Myriads on myriads, insect armies warp120Keen in the poison'd breeze; and wasteful eat,Thro' buds and bark, into the blacken'd core,Their eager way. A feeble race! yet oftThe sacred sons of vengeance, on whose courseCorrosive famine waits, and kills the year.125To check this plague the skilful farmer chaff,And blazing straw, before his orchard burns;Till, all involv'd in smoke, the latent foeFrom every cranny suffocated falls:Or scatters o'er the blooms the pungent dust130Of pepper, fatal to the frosty tribe:Or, when th' envenom'd leaf begins to curl,With sprinkled water drowns them in their nest:Nor, while they pick them up with busy bill,The little trooping birds unwisely scares.135

Be patient, swains; these cruel-seeming windsBlow not in vain. Far hence they keep, repress'd,Those deep'ning clouds on clouds, surcharg'd with rain,That o'er the vast Atlantic hither borne,In endless train, would quench the summer blaze,140And, chearless, drown de crude unripen'd year.

The north-east spends his rage; and now, shut upWithin his iron caves, th' effusive southWarms the wide air, and o'er the void of heavenBreathes the big clouds with vernal showrs distent.145At first a dusky wreath they seem to rise,Scarce staining ether; but by swift degrees,In heaps on heaps, the doubling vapour sailsAlong the loaded sky, and mingling deepSits on th' horizon round a settled gloom:150Not such as wintry-storms on mortals shed,

Oppressing life; but lovely, gentle, kind,And full of every hope and every joy,The wish of nature. Gradual, sinks the breeze,Into a perfect calm; that not a breath155Is heard to quiver thro' the closing woods,Or rustling turn the many-twinkling-leavesOf aspin tall. Th' uncurling floods, diffus'dIn glassy breadth, seem thro' delusive lapseForgetful of their course. 'Tis silence all,160And pleasing expectation. Herds and flocksDrop the dry sprig, and mute-imploring eyeThe falling verdure. Hush'd in short suspense,The plumy people streak their wings with oil,To throw the lucid moisture trickling off;165And wait th' approaching sign to strike at once,Into the general choir. Ev'n mountains, vales,And forests seem, impatient, to demandThe promis'd sweetness. Man superior walksAmid the glad creation, musing praise,170And looking lively gratitude. At last,The clouds consign their treasures to the fields;And, softly shaking on the dimpled poolPrelusive drops, let all their moisture flow,In large effusion, o'er the freshen'd world.175The stealing show'r is scarce to patter heard,By such as wander thro' the forest-walks,Beneath th' umbrageous multitude of leaves.But who can hold the shade, while heaven descendsIn universal bounty, shedding herbs,180And fruits and flow'rs, on Nature's ample lap?Swift fancy fir'd anticipates their growth;And, while the verdant nutriment distills,Beholds the kindling country colour round.

Thus all day long the full-distended clouds185Indulge their genial stores, and well-shower'd earthIs deep enrich'd with vegetable life;Till, in the western sky, the downward sunLooks out, effulgent, from amid the flushOf broken clouds, gay-shifting to his beam.190The rapid radiance instantaneous strikesTh' illumin'd mountain, thro' the forest streams,Shakes on the floods, and in a yellow mist,Far smoaking o'er th' interminable plain,In twinkling myriads lights the dewy gems.195Moist, bright, and green, the landskip laughs around.Full swell the woods; their every musick wakes,Mix'd in wild consort with the warbling brooksIncreas'd, the distant bleatings of the hills,And hollow lows responsive from the vales,200Whence blending all the sweeten'd zephyr springs.Meantime refracted from yon eastern cloud,Bestriding earth, the grand ethereal bowShoots up immense; and every hue unfolds,In fair proportion running from the red,205To where the violet fades into the sky.Here, awful Newton, the dissolving cloudsForm, fronting on the sun, thy showery prism;And to the sage-instructed eye unfoldThe various twine of light, by thee disclos'd210From the white mingling maze. Not so the boy:He wond'ring views the bright enchantment bend,Delightful, o'er the radiant fields, and runsTo catch the falling glory; but amaz'dBeholds th' amusive arch before him fly,215Then vanish quite away. Still night succeeds,A softened shade, and saturated earthAwaits the morning-beam to give to light,

Rais'd thro' ten thousand different plastic tubes,The balmy treasures of the former day.220

Then spring the living herbs, profusely wildO'er all the deep-green earth, beyond the powerOf botanist to number up their tribes;Whether he steals along the lonely daleIn silent search; or thro' the forest, rank225With what the dull incurious weeds account,Bursts his blind way; or climbs the mountain-rock,Fir'd by the nodding verdure of its brow.With such a liberal hand has Nature flungTheir seeds abroad, blown them about in winds,230Innumerous mix'd them with the nursing mold,The moistening current, and prolific rain.

But who their virtues can declare? Who pierceWith vision pure into these secret storesOf health, and life, and joy? The food of man,235While yet he liv'd in innocence, and toldA length of golden years, unflesh'd in blood,A stranger to the savage arts of life;Death, rapine, carnage, surfeit, and disease;The Lord, and not the tyrant, of the world.240

The glad morning wak'd the gladden'd raceOf uncorrupted man, nor blush'd to seeThe sluggard sleep beneath her sacred beam:For their light slumbers gently fum'd away;And up they rose as vigorous as the sun,245Or to the culture of the willing glebe,Or to the chearful tendance of the flock.Meantime the song went round; and dance, and sport,Wisdom and friendly talk, successive, stoleTheir hours away: while in the rosy vale250

Love breath'd his infant sighs, from anguish free,And full replete with bliss, save the sweet pain,That, inly thrilling, but exalts it more.Nor yet injurious act, nor surly deed,Was known among those happy sons of heaven;255For reason and benevolence were law.Harmonious Nature too look'd smiling on.Clear shone the skies, cool'd with eternal gales,And balmy spirit all. The youthful sunShot his best rays; and still the gracious clouds260Drop'd fatness down; as o'er the swelling mead,The herds and flocks, commixing, play'd secure.This when, emergent from the gloomy wood,The glaring lion saw, his horrid heartWas meeken'd, and he join'd his sullen joy.265For music held the whole in perfect peace:Soft sigh'd the flute; the tender voice was heard,Warbling the joyous heart; the woodlands roundApply'd their quire; and winds and waters flow'dIn consonance. Such were those prime of days.270

But now those white unblemish’d manners, whenceThe fabling poets took their golden age,Are found no more amid these iron times,These dregs of life! Now the distemper'd mindHas lost that concord of harmonious powers,275Which forms the soul of happiness; and allIs off the poise within: the passions allHave burst their bounds; and reason half extinct,Or impotent, or else approving, seesThe foul disorder. Senseless and deform’d280Convulsive anger storms at large; or pale,And silent, fettles into fell revenge.Base envy withers at another’s joy,And hates that excellence it cannot reach.

Desponding fear, of feeble fancies full, 285Weak and unmanly, loosens every power.Even love itself is bitterness of soul,A pensive anguish pining at the heart;Or, sunk to sordid interest, feels no moreThat noble wish, that never cloy'd-desire, 290Which, selfish joy disdaining, seeks aloneTo bless the dearer object of its flame.Hope sickens with extravagance; and grief,Of life impatient, into madness swells;Or in dead silence wastes the weeping hours. 295These, and a thousand mix'd emotions more,From ever-changing views of good and ill,Form'd infinitely various, vex the mindWith endless storms: whence, deeply rankling, growsThe partial thought, a listless unconcern, 300Cold, and averting from our neigbour's good;Then dark disgust, and hatred, winding wiles,Coward deceit, and ruffian violence:At last, extinct each social feeling, fellAnd joyless inhumanity pervades 305And petrifies the heart. Nature disturb'dIs deem'd, vindictive, to have chang'd her course.

Hence in old dusky time, a deluge came:When the deep-cleft disparting orb, that arch'dThe central waters round, impetuous rush'd, 310With universal burst, into the gulph,And o'er te high-pil'd hills of fractur'd earthWide dash'd the waves, in undulation vast;Till, from the center to the streaming clouds,A shoreless ocean tumbled round the globe. 315

The Seasons since have, with severer sway,Oppress'd a broken world: the Winter keen

Shook forth his waste of snows; and Summer shotHis pestilential heats. Great Spring, before,Green'd all the year: and fruits and blossoms blush'd,320In social sweetness, on the self-same bough.Pure was the temperate air; an even calmPerpetual reign'd, save what the zephyrs blandBreath'd o'er the blue expanse; for then nor stormsWere taught to blow, nor hurricanes to rage; 325Sound slept the waters; no sulphureous gloomsSwell'd in the sky, and sent the lightening forth;While sickly damps, and cold autumnal fogs,Hung not, relaxing, on the springs of life.But now, of turbid elements the sport, 330From clear to cloudy tost, from hot to cold,And dry to moist, with inward-eating change,Our drooping days are dwindled down to nought,Their period finish'd ere 'tis well begun.

And yet the wholesome herb neglected dies;335Though with the pure exhilarating soulOf nutriment and health, and vital powers,Beyond the search of art; 'tis copious blest.For, with hot ravine fir'd, insanguin'd ManIs now become the lion of the plain,340And worse. The wolf, who from the nightly foldFierce drags the bleating prey, ne'er drunk her milk,Nor wore her warming fleece: nor has the steer,At whose strong chest the deadly tyger hangs,E'er plow'd for him. They too are temper'd high, 345With hunger stung and wild necessity,Nor lodges pity in their shaggy breast.But Man, whom nature form'd of milder clay,With every kind emotion in his heart,And taught alone to weep; while from her lap350

She pours ten thousand delicacies, herbs,And fruits, as numerous as the drops of rain,Or beams that gave them birth: shall he, fair form!Who wears sweet smiles, and looks erect on heaven,E'er stoop to mingle with the prowling herd,355And dip his tongue in gore? The beast of prey,Blood-stain'd, deserves to bleed; but you, ye flocksWhat have you done; ye peaceful people, what,To merit death? you, who have given us milkIn luscious streams, and lent us your own coat360Against the winter's cold? And the plain ox,That harmless, honest, guileless animal,In what has he offended? he whose toil,Patient and ever-ready, clothes the landWith all the pomp of harvest? shall he bleed,365And struggling groan beneath the cruel handsEven of the clown he feeds? and that, perhaps,To swell the riot of th' autumnal feastWon by his labour? Thus the feeling heartWould tenderly suggest: but 'tis enough,370In this late age, adventurous, to have touch'dLight on the numbers of the Samian sage.High Heaven forbids the bold presumptuous strain,Whose wisest will has fix'd us in a stateThat must not yet to pure perfection rise.375

Now when the first soul torrent of the brooks,Swell'd with the vernal rains, is ebb'd away;And, whitening, down their mossy tinctur'd streamDescends the billowy foam: now is the timeWhile yet the dark brown water aids the guile,380To tempt the trout. The well-dissembled fly,The rod fine-tapering with elastic spring,Snatch'd, from the hoary steed the floating line,

And all thy slender watry stores prepare.But let not on thy hook the tortur'd worm,385Convulsive, twist in agonizing folds;Which, by rapacious hunger swallow'd deep,Gives, as you tear it from the bleeding breastOf the weak helpless uncomplaining wretch,Harsh pain and horror to the tender hand. 390

When with his lively ray the potent sunHas pierc'd the streams, and rouz'd the finny race,Then, issuing chearful, to thy sport repair;Chief should the western breezes curling play,And light o'er ether bear the shadowy clouds.395High to their fount, this day, amid the hills,And woodlands warbling round, trace up the brooks:The next, pursue their rocky-channel'd maze,Down to the river, in whose ample wave,Their little naiads love to sport at large.400Just in the dubious point, where with the poolIs mix'd the trembling stream, or where it boilsAround the stone, or from the hollow'd bankReverted plays in undulating flow,There throw, nice-judging, the delusive fly;405And as you lead it round in artful curve,With eye attentive mark the springing game.Strait as above the surface of the floodThey wanton rise, or urg'd by hunger leap,Then fix, with gentle twitch, the barbed hook:410Some lightly toiling to the grassy bank,And to the shelving shore slow-dragging some,With various hand proportion'd to their force.If yet too young, and easily deceiv'd,A worthless prey scarce bends your pliant rod,415Him, piteous of his youth and the short space

He has enjoy'd the vital light of Heaven,Soft disengage, and back into the streamThe speckled captive throw. But should you lureFrom his dark haunt, beneath the tangled roots 420Of pendant trees, the monarch of the brook,Behoves you then to ply your finest art.Long time he, following cautious, scans the fly;And oft attempts to seize it, but as oftThe dimpled water speaks his jealous fear. 425At last, while haply o'er the shaded sunPasses a cloud, he desperate takes the death,With sudden plunge. At once he darts along,Deep struck, and runs out all the lengthen'd line.Then seeks the farthest ooze, the sheltering weed, 430The cavern'd bank, his old secure abode;And flies aloft, and flounces round the pool,Indignant of the guile. With yielding hand,That feels him still, yet to his furious courseGives way, you, now retiring, following now 435Across the stream, exhaust his idle rage:Till floating broad upon his breathless side,And to his fate abandon'd, to the shoreYou gaily drag your unresisting prize.

Thus pass the temperate hours: but when the sun 440Shakes from his noon-day throne the scatt'ring clouds,Even shooting listless languor thro' the deeps;Then seek the bank where flowering elders croud,Where scatter'd wide the lily of the valeIts balmy essence breathes, where cowslips hang 445The dewy head, where purple violets lurk,With all the lowly children of the shade:Or lie reclin'd beneath yon spreading ash,Hung o'er the steep; whence, borne on liquid wing,

The sounding culver shoots; or where the hawk, 450High, in the beetling cliff, his airy builds.There let the classic page thy fancy leadThro' rural scenes; such as the Mantuan swainPaints in the matchless harmony of song.Or catch thyself the landskip, gliding swift 455Athwart imagination's vivid eye:Or by the vocal woods and waters lull'd,And lost in lonely musing, in the dream,Confus'd, of careless solitude, where mixTen thousand wandering images of things, 460Soothe every gust of passion into peace;All but the swellings of the soften'd heart,That waken, not disturb, the tranquil mind.

Behold yon breathing prospect bids the MuseThrow all her beauty forth. But who can paint 465Like Nature? Can imagination boast,Amid it's gay creation, hues like her's?Or can it mix them with that matchless skill,And lose them in each other, as appearsIn every bud that blows? If fancy then 470Unequal fails beneath the pleasing task,Ah what shall language do? Ah where find wordsTing'd with so many colours; and whose power,To life approaching, may perfume my laysWith that fine oil, those aromatic gales, 475That inexhaustive flow continual round?

Yet, tho' successless, will the toil delight.Come then, ye virgins, and ye youths, whose heartsHave felt the raptures of refining love:And thou, Amanda, come, pride of my song! 480Form'd by the Graces, loveliness itself!Come with those downcast eyes, sedate and sweet,

Those looks demure, that deeply pierce the soul.Where, with the light of thoughtful reason mix'd,Shines lively fancy and the feeling heart:485Oh come! and while the rosy-footed MaySteals blushing on, together let ns treadThe morning-dews, and gather in their primeFresh-blooming flowers, to grace thy braided hair,And thy lov'd bosom, that improves their sweets. 490

See, where the winding vale its lavish stores,Irriguous, spreads. See, how the lilly drinksThe latent rill, scarce oozing thro' the grass,Of growth luxuriant; or the humid bank,In fair profusion, decks. Long let us walk, 495Where the breeze blows from yon extended fieldOf blossom'd beans. Arabia cannot boastA fuller gale of joy, than liberal, thenceBreathes thro' the sense, and takes the ravish'd soul.Nor is the mead unworthy of thy foot, 500Full of fresh verdure, and unnumber'd flowers,The negligence of Nature, wide, and wild:Where, undisguis'd by mimic Art, she spreadsUnbounded beauty to the roving eye.Here their delicious task the fervent bees,505In swarming millions, tend. Around, athwart,Thro' the soft air, the busy nations fly,Cling to the bud, and, with inserted tube.Suck its pure essence, it's etherial soul:And oft, with bolder wing, they soaring dare 510The purple heath, or where the wild thyme grows,And yellow load them with the luscious spoil.

At length the finish'd garden to the viewIt's vistas opens, and its alleys green.Snatch'd thro' the verdant maze, the hurried eye 515

Distracted wanders; now the bowery walkOf covert close, where scarce a speck of dayFalls on the lengthen'd gloom, protracted sweeps:Now meets the bending sky, the river nowDimpling along, the breezy-ruffled lake,520The forest darkening round, the glittering spire,Th' etherial mountain, and the distant main.But why so far excursive? when at hand,Along the blushing borders, bright with dew,And in yon mingled wilderness of flowers,525Fair-handed Spring unbosoms 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;530And lavish stock that scents the garden round.From the soft wing of vernal breezes shed,Anemonies; auriculas, enrich'dWith shining meal o'er all their velvet leaves;And full ranunculas, of glowing red.535Then comes the tulip-race, where Beauty playsHer idle freaks: from family diffus'dTo family, as flies the father-dust,The varied colours run; and while they breakOn the charm'd eye, th' exulting florist marks,540With secret pride, the wonders of his hand.No gradual bloom is wanting; from the bud,First-born of spring, to Summer's musky tribes:Nor hyacinths, of purest virgin white,Low-bent, and blushing inward; nor jonquils545Of potent fragrance; nor Narcissus 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, 550With hues on hues expression cannot paint,The breath of Nature, and her endless bloom.

Hail, Source of Being! Universal SoulOf heaven and earth! Essential Presence, hail!To Thee I bend the knee; to Thee my thoughts, 555Continual climb; who, with a Master-hand,Hast the great whole into perfection touch'd.By Thee the various vegetative tribes,Wrapt in a filmy net, and clad with leaves,Draw the live ether, and imbibe the dew: 560By Thee dispos'd into congenial soils,Stands each attractive plant, and sucks, and swellsThe juicy tide; a twining mass of tubes.At Thy command the vernal sun awakesThe torpid sap, detruded to the root565By wintry winds, that now in fluent dance,And lively fermentation, mounting, spreadsAll this innumerous-colour'd scene of things.

As rising from the vegetable worldMy theme ascends, with equal wing ascend 570My panting Muse! and hark how loud the woodsInvite you forth in all your gayest trim.Lend me your song, ye nightingales! oh pourThe mazy-running soul of melodyInto my varied verse! while I deduce575From the first note the hollow cuckoo sings,The symphony of Spring, and touch a themeUnknown to fame, the passions of the groves.

When first the soul of love is sent abroad,Warm thro' the vital air, and on the heart580Harmonious seizes, 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 growsThe soft infusion prevalent, and wide, 585Than, all alive, at once their joy o'erflowsIn music unconfin'd. Up-springs the lark,Shrill-voic'd, and loud, the messenger of morn;Ere yet the shadows fly, he mounted singsAmid the dawning clouds, and from their haunts 590Calls up the tuneful nations. Every copseDeep-tangled, and tree irregular, and bushBending with dewy moisture, o'er the headsOf the coy quiristers that lodge within,Are prodigal of harmony. The thrush 595And wood-lark, o'er the kind contending throngSuperior heard, run thro' the sweetest lengthOf notes; when listening Philomela deignsTo let them joy, and purposes, in thoughtElate, to make her night excel their day. 600The black-bird whittles from the thorny brake;The mellow bullfinch answers from the grove:Nor are the linnets, o'er the flowering furzePour'd out profusely, silent. Join'd to theseInnumerous songsters, in the freshening shade 605Of new-sprung leaves, their modulations mixMellifluous. The jay, the rook, the daw,And each harsh pipe discordant heard alone,Aid the full concert: while the stock-dove breathesA melancholy murmur thro' the whole. 610

'Tis love creates their melody, and allThis waste of music is the voice of love;That even to birds, and beasts, the tender ArtsOf pleasing teaches. Hence the glossy kind

Try every winning way inventive love 615Can dictate, and in courtship to their matesPour forth their little souls. First, wide around,With distant awe, in airy rings they rove,Endeavouring by a thousand tricks to catchThe cunning, conscious, half-averted glance620Of their regardless charmer. Should she seemSoftening the least approvance to bestow,Their colours burnish, and by hope inspir'd,They brisk advance; then, on a sudden struck,Retire disorder'd; then again approach;625In fond rotation spread the spotted wing,And shiver every feather with desire.

Connubial leagues agreed, to the deep woodsThey haste away, all as their fancy leads,Pleasure, or food, or secret safety prompts; 630That Nature's great command may be obey'd,Nor all the sweet sensations they perceiveIndulg'd in vain. Some to the holly-hedgeNestling repair, and to the thicket some;Some to the rude protection of the thorn635Commit their feeble offspring: the cleft treeOffers its kind concealment to a few,Their food its insects, and its moss their nests.Others apart far in the grassy dale,Or roughening waste, their humble texture weave.640But moft in woodland solitudes delight,In unfrequented glooms, or shaggy banks,Steep, and divided by a babbling brook,Whose murmurs soothe them all the live-long day,When by kind duty fix'd. Among the roots 645Of hazel, pendant o'er the plaintive stream,They frame the first foundation of their domes;

Dry sprigs of trees, in artful fabric laid,And bound with clay together. Now 'tis noughtBut restless hurry thro' the busy air, 650Beat by unnumber'd wings. The swallow sweepsThe slimy pool, to build his hanging houseIntent. And often, from the careless backOf herds and flocks, a thousand tugging billsPluck hair, and wool; and oft, when unobserv'd, 655Steal from the barn a straw: till soft and warm,Clean, and compleat, their habitation grows.

As thus the patient dam assiduous fits,Not to be tempted from her tender task,Or by sharp hunger, or by smooth delight, 660Tho' the whole loosen'd Spring around her blows,Her sympathizing lover takes his standHigh on th' opponent bank, and ceaseless singsThe tedious time away; or else suppliesHer place a moment, while she sudden flits 665To pick the scanty meal. Th* appointed timeWith pious toil fulfill'd, the callow young,Warm'd and expanded into perfect life,Their brittle bondage break, and come to light,A helpless family, demanding food 670With constant clamour. O what passions then,What melting sentiments of kindly care,On the new parents seize! away they flyAffectionate, and undesiring bearThe most delicious morsel to their young; 675Which equally distributed, againThe search begins. Even so a gentle pair,By fortune sunk, but form'd of generous mold,And charm'd with cares beyond the vulgar breast,In some lone cott amid the distant woods,680

Sustain'd alone by providential Heaven,Oft, as they weeping eye their infant train,Check their own appetites and give them all.

Nor toil alone they scorn: exalting love,By the great Father of the Spring inspir'd, 685Gives instant courage to the fearful race,And to the simple, art. With stealthy wing,Should some rude foot their woody haunts molest,Amid a neighbouring bush they silent drop,And whirring thence, as if alarm'd, deceive 690Th'unfeeling school-boy. Hence, around the headOf wandering swain, the white-wing'd plover wheelsHer founding flight, and then directly onIn long excursion skims the level lawn,To tempt him from her nest. The wild-duck, hence 695O'er the rough moss, and o'er the trackless wasteThe heath-hen flutters, pious fraud! to leadThe hot pursuing spaniel far astray.

Be not the Muse asham'd, here to bemoanHer brothers of the grove, by tyrant man 700Inhuman caught, and in the narrow cageFrom liberty confin'd, and boundless air.Dull are the pretty slaves, their plumage dull.Ragged, and all its brightening lustre lost;Nor is that sprightly wildness in their notes 705Which, clear and vigorous, warbles from the beech.Oh then, ye friends of love and love-taught song,Spare the soft tribes, this barbarous art forbear!If on your bosom innocence can win,Music engage, or piety persuade, 710

But let not chief the nightingale lamentHer ruin'd care, too delicately fram'd

To brook the harsh confinement of the cage.Oft when, returning with her loaded bill,Th' astonish'd mother finds a vacant nest,715By the hard hand of unrelenting clownsRobb'd, to the ground the vain provision falls;Her pinions ruffle, and low-drooping scarceCan bear the mourner to the poplar shade;Where, all abandon'd to despair, she sings720Her sorrows thro' the night; and on the boughSole-sitting, still at every dying fallTakes up again her lamentable strainOf winding woe; till wide around, the woodsSigh to her song, and with her wail resound.725

But now the feather'd youth their former bounds,Ardent, disdain; and, weighing oft their wings,Demand the free possession of the sky;This one glad office more, and then dissolvesParental love at once, now needless grown.730Unlavish Wisdom never works in vain.'Tis on some evening, funny, grateful, mild,When nought but balm is breathing thro' the woods,With yellow lustre bright, that the new tribesVisit the spacious heavens, and look abroad735On Nature's common, far as they can see,Or wing, their range, and pasture. O'er the boughsDancing about, still at the giddy vergeTheir resolution fails; their pinions still,In loose libration stretch'd, to trust the void740Trembling refuse: till down before them flyThe parent-guides, and chide, exhort, command,Or push them off. The surging air receivesIts plumy burden; and their self-taught wingsWinnow the waving element. On ground745

Alighted, bolder up again they lead,Farther and farther on, the lenghtning flight;Till vanish'd every fear, and every powerRouz'd into life and action, light in airTh' acquitted parents see their soaring race, 750And once rejoicing never know them more.

High from the summit of a craggy cliff,Hung o'er the deep, such as amazing frownsOn utmost: Kilda's shore, whose lonely raceResign the setting sun to Indian worlds, 755The royal eagle draws his vigorous young,Strong-pounc'd, and ardent with paternal fire.Now fit to raise a kingdom of their own,He drives them from his fort, the towering seat,For ages, of his empire; which, in peace, 760Unstain'd he holds, while many a league to seaHe wings his course, and preys in distant isles.

Should I my steps turn to the rural seat,Whose lofty elms, and venerable oaks,Invite the rook, who high amid the boughs 765In early Spring, his airy city builds,And ceaseless caws amusive; there, well-pleas'd,I might the various polity surveyOf the mix'd houshold-kind. The careful henCalls all her chirping family around, 770Fed, and defended by the fearless cock;Whose breast with ardour flames, as on he walksGraceful, and crows defiance. In the pond,The finely-checker'd duck, before her train,Rows garrulous. The stately-sailing swan 10Gives out his snowy plumage to the gale;And, arching proud his neck, with oary feet

Bears forward fierce, and guards his osier-isle,Protective of his young. The turkey nigh,Loud-threatning, reddens; while the peacock spreads 780His every-colour'd glory to the sun,And swims in floating majesty along.O'er the whole homely scene, the cooing doveFlies thick in amorous chace, and wanton rollsThe glancing eye, and turns the changeful neck.785

While thus the gentle tenants of the shadeIndulge their purer loves, the rougher worldOf brutes, below, rush furious into flame,And fierce desire. Thro' all his lusty veinsThe bull, deep-scorch'd, the raging passion feels.790Of pasture sick, and negligent of food,Scarce seen, he wades among the yellow broom,While o'er his ample sides the rambling spraysLuxuriant shoot; or thro' the mazy woodDejected wanders, nor th' inticing bud 795Crops, the' it presses on his careless sense.And oft, in jealous madning fancy wrapt,He seeks the sight; and, idly-butting, feignsHis rival gor'd in every knotty trunk.Him should he meet, the bellowing war begins; 800Their eyes flash fury; to the hollow'd earth,Whence the sand flies, they mutter bloody deeds,And groaning deep, th' impetuous battle mix:While the fair heifer, balmy-breathing, near,Stands kindling up their rage. The trembling steed, 805With this hot impulse seiz'd in every nerve,Nor hears the rein, nor heeds the sounding thong;Blows are not felt; but tossing high his head,And by the well known joy to distant plainsAttracted strong, all wild he bursts away;810

O'er rocks, and woods, and craggy mountains flies;And, neighing, on the aërial summit takesTh' exciting gale; then, steep-descending, cleavesThe headlong torrents foaming down the hills,Even where the madness of the straiten'd stream 815Turns in black eddies round: such is the forceWith which his frantic heart and sinews swell.

Nor undelighted, by the boundless spring,Are the broad monsters of the foaming deep:From the deep ooze, and gelid cavern rous'd,820They flounce and tumble in unwieldy joy.Dire were the strain, and dissonant, to singThe cruel raptures of the savage kind:How by this flame their native wrath sublim'd,They roam, amid the fury of their heart, 825The far-resounding waste in fiercer bands,And growl their horrid loves. But this the themeI sing, enraptur'd, to the British Fair,Forbids, and leads me to the mountain-brow,Where fits the shepherd on the grassy turf, 830Inhaling, healthful, the descending sun.Around him feeds his many-bleating flock,Of various cadence; and his sportive lambs,This way and that convolv'd, in friskful glee,Their frolicks play. And now the sprightly race835Invites them forth; when swift, the signal given,They start away, and sweep the massy moundThat runs around the hill; the rampart onceOf iron war, in ancient barbarous times,When disunited Britain ever bled, 840Lost in eternal broil: ere yet she grewTo this deep-laid indissoluble state,Where Wealth and Commerce lift their golden heads;

And, o'er our labours, Liberty and Law,Impartial, watch, the wonder of a world!845

What is this mighty Breath, ye sages, say,That, in a powerful language, felt not heard,Instructs the fowls of heaven; and thro' their breastThese arts of love diffuses? What, but God?Inspiring God! who boundless Spirit all,850And unremitting energy, pervades,Adjusts, sustains, and agitates the whole.He ceaseless works alone; and yet aloneSeems not to work; with such perfection fram'dIs this complex stupendous scheme of things.855But, tho' conceal'd, to every purer eyeTh' informing Author in his works appears:Chief, lovely Spring, in thee, and thy soft scenesThe Smiling God is seen, while water, earth,And air attest his bounty; which exalts860The brute-creation to this finer thought,And annual melts their undesigning heartsProfusely thus in tenderness and joy.

Still let my song a nobler note assume,And sing th' infusive force of Spring on Man;865When heaven and earth, as if contending, vyeTo raise his being, and serene his soul.Can he forbear to join the general smileOf Nature? Can fierce passions vex his breast,While every gale is peace, and every grove870Is melody? Hence! From the bounteous walksOf 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 thought875Of all his works, Creative Bounty burns

With warmest beam; and on your open front,And liberal eye, fits, from his dark retreatInviting modest want. Nor, till invok'dCan restless goodness wait; your active search880Leaves no cold wintry corner unexplor'd;Like silent-working Heaven, surprising oftThe lonely heart with unexpected good.For you the roving spirit of the windBlows Spring abroad; for you the teeming clouds885Descend 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 exalts890The whole creation round. Contentment walksThe funny glade, and feels an inward blissSpring o'er his mind, beyond the power of kingsTo purchase. Pure serenity apaceInduces thought, and contemplation still.895By swift degrees the love of nature works,And warms the bosom; till at last sublim'dTo rapture, and enthusiastic heat,We feel the present Deity, and tasteThe joy of God to see a happy world!900

These are the sacred feelings of thy heart,Thy heart inform'd by reason's purer ray,O Lyttelton, the friend! thy passions thusAnd meditations vary, as at large,Courting the Muse, thro' Hagley-Park thou strayest,905Thy British Tempe! There along the dale,With Woods o'er-hung, and shag'd with mossy rocks,Whence on each hand the gushing waters play,And down the rough cascade white-dashing fall,

Or gleam in lengthen'd vista thro' the trees, 910You silent steal; or sit beneath the shadeOf solemn oaks, that tuft the swelling mountsThrown graceful round by Nature's careless hand,And pensive listen to the various voiceOf rural peace: the herds, the flocks, the birds, 915The hollow-whispering breeze, the plaint of rills,That, purling down amid the twisted rootsWhich creep around, their dewy murmurs shakeOn the sooth'd ear. From these abstracted oft,You wander through the philosophic world; 920Where 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, 925And honest zeal unwarp'd by party-rage,Britannia's weal; how from the venal gulphTo raise her virtue, and her arts revive.Or, turning thence thy view, these graver thoughtsThe Muses charm: while, with sure taste refin'd, 930You draw th' inspiring breath of ancient song;Till nobly rises, emulous, thy own.Perhaps thy lov'd Lucinda shares thy walk,With soul to thine attun'd. Then Nature allWears to the lover's eye a look of love; 935And all the tumult of a guilty world,Tost by ungenerous passions, sinks away.The tender heart is animated peace;And as it pours its copious treasures forth,In varied converse, softening every theme, 940You, frequent-pausing, turn, and from her eyes,Where meekened sense, and amiable grace,And lively sweetness dwell, enraptur'd, drink

That nameless spirit of etherial joy,Unutterable happiness! which love, 945Alone bellows, and on a favour'd few.Meantime you gain the height, from whose fair browThe bursting prospect spreads immense around;And snatch'd o'er hill and dale, and wood and lawn,And verdant field, and darkening heath between,950And villages embosom'd soft in trees,And spiry towns by surging columns mark'dOf household smoak, your eye excursive roams:Wide-stretching from the Hall, in whose kind hauntThe Hospitable Genius lingers still, 955To where the broken landskip, by degrees,Ascending, roughens into ridgy hills;O'er which the cambrian mountains, like far cloudsThat skirt the blue horizon, dusky rise.

Flush'd by the spirit of the genial year, 960Now from the virgin's cheek a fresher bloomShoots', less and less, the live carnation round;Her lips blush deeper sweets; she breathes of youthThe shining moisture swells into her eyes,In brighter flow; her wishing bosom heaves, 965With palpitations wild; kind tumults seizeHer veins, and all her yielding soul is love.From the keen gaze her lover turns away,Full of the dear ecstatic power, and sickWith sighing languishment. Ah then, ye fair!970Be greatly cautious of your sliding hearts:Dare not th' infectious sigh; the pleading look,Down-cast, and low, in meek submission drest,But full of guile. Let not the fervent tongue,Prompt to deceive, with adulation smooth,975Gain on your purpos'd will. Nor in the bower,

Where woodbinds flaunt, and roses shed a couch,While evening draws her crimson curtains round,Trull your soft minutes with Betraying Man.

And let th' aspiring youth beware of love, 980Of the smooth glance beware; for 'tis too late,When on his heart the torrent-softness pours.Then Wisdom prostrate lies, and fading fameDissolves in air away; while the fond soul,Wrapt in gay visions of unreal bliss, 985Still paints th' illusive form; the kindling grace;Th' inticing smile; the modest-seeming eye,Beneath whose beauteous beams, belying heaven,Lurk searchless cunning, cruelty, and death:And still, false-warbling in his cheated ear, 990Her syren voice, enchanting, draws him on,To guileful shores, and meads of fatal joy.

Even present, in the very lap of loveInglorious laid; while music flows around,Perfumes, and oils, and wine, and wanton hours; 995Amid the roses fierce Repentance rearsHer snaky crest: a quick-returning pangShoots thro' the conscious heart; where honour still,And great design, against the oppressive loadOf luxury, by fits, impatient heave. 1000

But absent, what fantastic woes, arrous'd,Rage in each thought, by restless musing fed,Chill the warm cheek, and blast the bloom of life?Neglected fortune flies; and sliding swift,Prone into ruin, fall his scorn'd affairs. 1005'Tis nought but gloom around: the darken'd sunLoses his light: the rosy-bosom'd SpringTo weeping fancy pines; and yon bright arch,Contracted, bends into a dusky vault.

All Nature fades extinct; and she alone 1010Heard, felt, and seen, possesses every thought,Fills every sense, and pants in every vein.Books are but formal dulness, tedious friends;And sad amid the social band he fits,Lonely, and unattentive. From his tongue 1015Th' unfinish'd period falls: while borne awayOn swelling thought, his wafted spirit fliesTo the vain bosom of his distant fair;And leaves the semblance of a lover, fix'dIn melancholy site, with head declin'd, 1020And love-dejected eyes. Sudden he starts,Shook from his tender trance, and restless runsTo glimmering shades, and sympathetic glooms;Where the dun umbrage o'er the falling stream,Romantic, hangs; there thro' the pensive dusk 1025Strays, in heart-thrilling meditation lost,Indulging all to love: or on the bankThrown, amid drooping lilies, swells the breezeWith sighs unceasing, and the brook with tears,Thus in soft anguish he consumes the day, 1030Nor quits his deep retirement, till the moonPeeps thro' the chambers of the fleecy east,Enlightened by degrees, and in her trainLeads on the gentle hours; then forth he walks,Beneath the trembling languish of her beam, 1035With soften'd soul, and wooes the bird of eveTo mingle woes with his: or, while the worldAnd all the sons of Care lie hush'd in sleep,Associates with the midnight shadows drear;And, sighing to the lonely taper, pours 1040His idly-tortur'd heart into the page,Meant for the moving messenger of love;Where rapture burns on rapture, every lineWith riling frenzy fir'd. But if on bed

Delirious flung, sleep from his pillow flies.1045All night he tosses, nor the balmy powerIn any posture finds; till the grey mornLifts her pale lustre on the paler wretch,Exanimate by love: and then perhapsExhausted Nature sinks a while to rest,1050Still interrupted by distracted dreams,That o'er the sick imagination rise,And in black colours paint the mimic scene.Oft with th' enchantress of his soul he talks;Sometimes in crouds distress'd; or if retir'd1055To secret-winding flower-enwoven bowers,Far from the dull impertinence of Man,Just as he, credulous, his endless caresBegins to lose in blind oblivious love,Snatch'd from her yielded hand, he knows not how,1060Thro' forests huge, and long untravel'd heathsWith desolation brown, he wanders waste,In night and tempest wrapt; or shrinks aghast,Back, from the bending precipice; or wadesThe turbid stream below, and strives to reach1065The farther shore; where succourless, and sad,She with extended arms his aid implores,But strives in vain; borne by th' outrageous floodTo distance down, he rides the ridgy wave,Or whelm'd beneath the boiling eddy sinks.1070

These are the charming agonies of love,Whose misery delights. But thro' the heartShould jealousy its venom once diffuse,'Tis then delightful misery no more,But agony unmix'd, incessant gall,1075Corroding every thought, and blasting allLove's paradise. Ye fairy prospects, then,Ye beds of roses, and ye bowers of joy,

Farewel! Ye gleamings of departing peace,Shine out your last! the yellow-tinging plague 1080Internal vision taints, and in a nightOf livid gloom imagination wraps.Ah then; instead of-love enliven'd cheeks,Of funny features, and of ardent eyesWith flowing rapture bright, dark looks succeed, 1085Suffus'd, and glaring with untender fire;A cloudy aspect, and a burning cheek,Where the whole poison'd soul, malignant, sits,And frightens love away. Ten thousand fearsInvented wild, ten thousand frantic views 1090Of horrid rivals, hanging on the charmsFor which he melts in fondness, eat him upWith fervent anguish, and consuming rage.In vain reproaches lend their idle aid,Deceitful pride, and resolution frail, 1095Giving false peace a moment. Fancy pours,Afresh, her beauties on his busy thought,Her first endearments, twining round the soul,With all the witchcraft of ensnaring love.Strait the fierce storm involves his mind anew, 1100Flames thro' the nerves, and boils along the veins:While anxious doubt distracts the tortur'd heart;For even the sad assurance of his fearsWere peace to what he feels. Thus the warm youth,Whom love deludes into his thorny wilds, 1105Thro' flowery-tempting paths, or leads a lifeOf fever'd rapture, or of cruel care;His brightest flames extinguish'd all, and allHis brightest moments running down to waste.

But happy they! the happiest of their kind! 1110Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fateTheir hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend.

'Tis not the coarser tie of human laws,Unnatural oft, and foreign to the mind,That binds their peace, but harmony itself,1115Attuning all their passions into love;Where friendship full-exerts her softest power,Perfect esteem enliven'd by desireIneffable, and sympathy of soul;Thought meeting thought, and will preventing will1120With boundless confidence: for nought but loveCan answer love, and render bliss secure.Let him, ungenerous, who, alone intentTo bless himself, from sordid parents buysThe loathing virgin, in eternal care, 1125Well-merited, consume his nights and days:Let barbarous nations, whose inhuman loveIs wild desire, fierce as the suns they feel;Let eastern tyrants from the light of HeavenSeclude their bosom-slaves, meanly possess'd 1130Of a meer, lifeless, violated form:While those whom love cements in holy faith,And equal transport, free as Nature live,Disdaining fear. What is the world to them,Its pomp, its pleasure, and its nonsense all! 1135Who in each other clasp whatever fairHigh fancy forms, and lavish hearts can wish;Something than beauty dearer, should they lookOr on the mind, or mind-illumin'd face;Truth, goodness, honour, harmony, and love 1140The richest bounty of indulgent Heaven.Mean-time a smiling offspring rises round,And mingles both their graces. By degrees,The human blossom blows; and every day,Soft as it rolls along, shews some new charm, 1145The father's lustre, and the mother's bloom.The infant reason grows apace, and calls

For the kind hand of an assiduous care.Delightful task! to rear the tender thought.To teach the young idea how to shoot,1150To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind,To breathe th' enlivening spirit, and to fixThe generous purpose in the glowing breast.Oh speak the joy! ye, whom the sudden tearSurprizes often, while you look around,1155And nothing strikes your eye but sights of bliss,All various Nature pressing on the heart:An elegant sufficiency, content,Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books,Ease and alternate labour, useful life,1160Progressive virtue, and approving Heaven.These are the matchless joys of virtuous love;And thus their moments fly. The seasons thus,As ceaseless round a jarring world they roll,Still find them happy; and consenting Spring1165Sheds her own rosy garland on their heads:Till evening comes at last, serene and mild;When after the long vernal day of life,Enamour'd more, as more remembrance swellsWith many a proof of recollected love,1170Together down they sink in social sleep;Together freed, their gentle spirits flyTo scenes where love and bliss immortal reign.