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At thee the roby lights its deepening glow,
And with a waving radiance inward fames.
From thee the sapphire, solid ether, takes
Its hue cerulean; and, of evening tinct,
The purple streaming amethyst is thine.
With thy own smile the yellow topaz burns,
Nor deeper verdure dyes the robe of Spring,
When first she gives it to the southern gale,
Than the green emerald shows. But, all combin'd,
Thick through the whitening opal play thy beams;
Or, Aying several from its surface, form
A trembling variance of revolving hues,
As the site varies in the gazer's hand.

The very dead creation, from thy touch,
Assumes a mimic life. By thee refin'd,
In brighter mazes the relucent stream
Plays o'er the mead. The precipice abrupt,
Projecting horror on the blackend flood,
Softens at thy return. The desart joys
Wildly, through all his melancholy bounds.
Rude ruins glitter; and the briny deep,
Seen from some pointed promontory's top,
Far to the blue horizon's utmost verge,
Restless, reflects a floating gleam. But this,
And all the much transported muse can sing,
Are to thy beauty, dignity, and use,
Unequal far; great delegated source
Of light, and life, and grace, and joy below!

How shall I then attempt to sing of him!
Who, light himself, in uncreated light
Invested deep, dwells awefully retir'd
From mortal eye, or angel's purer ken;
Whose single smile has, from the first of time,
Fillid o'erflowing, all those lamps of beaven,
That beam för ever through the boundless sky:
But, should he hide his face, th' astonish'd sun,
And all th' extinguish'd stars, would loosening reel
Wide from their spheres, and Chaos come again.

And yet was every falt'ring tongue of man, Almighty Father! silent in thy praise, Thy works themselves would raise a general voice, Ev'n in the depth of solitary woods By human foot untrod; proclaim thy power,

And to the quire celestial thee resound,
Th' eternal cause, support, and end of all!

To me be nature's volume broad-display'd;
And to peruse its all instructing page,
Or, haply catching inspiration thence,
Some easy passage, raptur'd, to translate,
My sole delight; as through the falling glooms
Pensive I stray, or with the rising dawn
On fancy's eagle wing excursive soar.

Now, flaming up the heavens, the potent sun
Melts into limpid air the high-rais'd clouds,
And morning fogs, that hover'd round the hills
In party-colourd bands; till wide unveil'd
The face of nature shines, from where earth seems,
Far stretch'd around, to meet the bending sphere.

Half in a blush of clustering roses lost,
Dew-dropping coolness to the shade retires ;
There, on the verdant turf, or flowery bed,
By gelid founts and careless rills to muse;
While tyrant heat, dispreading through the sky,
With rapid sway, his burning influence darts
On man, and beast, and herb, and tepid stream.

Who can unpitying see the flowery race,
Shed by the morn, their new-flush'd bloom resigo,
Before the parching beam? So fade the fair,
When fevers revel through their azure veins.
But one, the lofty follower of the sun,
Sad when he sits, shurs up her yellow leaves,
Droopiog all night; and, when he warm returns,
Points her enamour'd bosom to his ray.

Home, from his morning task, the swain retreats ; His flock before him stepping to the fold: While the full-udder'd mother lows around The cheerful cottage, then expecting food, The food of innocence and health! The daw, The rook and magpie, to the grey-grown oaks, That the calm village in their verdant arms, Sheltering, embrace, direct their lazy flight; Where on the mingling boughs they sit embowerd, All the hot noon, till cooler hours arise. Faint, underneath, the household fowls convene; And, in a corner of the buzzing shade, The house-dog, with the vacant greyhound, lies

Out-stretch'd, and sleepy. In his slumbers, one
Attacks the nightly thief, and one exults
O'er hill and dale; till waken'd by the wasp,
They starting snap. Nor shall the muse disdain
To let the little noisy summer-race
Live in her lay, and flutter through her

song: Not mean, though simple; to the sun ally'd, From him they draw their animating fire.

Wak'd by his warmer ray, the reptile young Come wing'd abroad; by the light air upborne, Lighter, and full of soul. From every chink, And secret corner, where they slept away The wintry storms; or rising from their tombs, To higher life; by myriads, forth at once, Swarming they pour; of all the vary'd hues Their beauty-beaming parent can disclose. Ten thousand forms! ten thousand different tribes; People the blaze. To sunny waters some By fatal instinct fly; where on the pool They, sportive, wheel; or, sailing down the stream, Are snatch'd immediate by the quick-ey'd trout, Or darting salmon. Through the green-wood glade Some love to stray; there lodg’d, amus'd and fed, In the fresh leaf. Luxurious, others make The meads their choice, and visit every flower, And every

latent herb: for the sweet task,
To propagate their kinds, and where to wrap,
In what soft beds, their young yet undisclos'd,
Employs their tender care. Some to the house,
The fold, and dairy, hungry, bend their flight;
Sip round the pail, or taste the curdling cheese :
Oft, inadvertent, from the milky stream
They meet their fate; or, weltering in the bowl,
With powerless wiegs around them wrapt, expire.

But chief to heedless flies the window proves
A constant death; where, gloomily retir’d,
The villain spider lives, cunning, and fierce,
Mixture abhorr'd! Anid a mangled heap
Of carcases, in eager watch he sits,
O’eriooking all his waving snares around.
Near the dire cell the dreadless wanderer oft
Passes, as oft the ruffian shows his front;
The prey at last ensnard, he dreadful darts,

With rapid glide, along the leaning line;
And, fixing in the wretch his cruel fangs,
Strikes backward, grimly pleas'd : the fluttering wing
And shriller sound declare extreme distress,
And ask the helping hospitable hand.

Resounds the living surface of the ground:
Nor undelightful is the ceaseless hum,
To him who muses through the woods at noon :
Or drowsy shepherd, as he lies reclin’d,
With half-shut eyes, beneath the floating shade
Of willows gray, close-crowding o'er the brook.

Gradual, from these what numerous kinds descends
Evading ev'n the microscopic eye !
Full Nature swarms with life; one wondrous mass
Of animals, or atoms organiz'd,
Waiting the vital Breath, when Parent-Heaven
Shall bid his spirit blow. The hoary fen,
In putrid streams, emits the living cloud
Of pestilence. Through subterranean cells,
Where searching sun-beams scarce can find a way,
Earth animated heaves. The flowery leaf
Wants not its soft inhabitants. Secure,
Within its winding citadel, the stone
Holds multitudes. But chief the forest-boughs,
That dance unnumber'd to the playful breeze,
The downy orchard, and the melting pulp
Ot mellow froit, the nameless nations feed
Of evanescent insects. Where the pool
Stands mantled o'er with green, invisible,
Amid the floating verdure millions stray.
Each liquid too, whether it pierces, soothes,
Inflames, refreshes, or exalts the taste,
With various forms abounds. Nor is the stream
Of purest crystal, nor the lucid air,
Though one transparent vacancy it seems,
Void of their unseen people. These, conceald
By the kind art of forming Heaven, escape
The grosser eye

of man : for, if the worlds In worlds enclos'd should on his senses burst, From cates ambrosial, and the nectar'd bowl, He would abhorrent turn; and in dead night, When silence sleeps o'er all, be stunn'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 unwise, 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 dependence so, and firm accord,
As with unfaultering accent to conclude
That this availeth nought ? Has any seen
The mighty chain of beings, lessening down
Froin Intinite Perfection to the brink
Of dreary nothing, desolate abyss !
From which astonish'd thought, recoiling, turns?
Till then alone let zealous praise ascend,
And hymns of holy wonder, to that Power
Whose wisdon shines as lovely on our minds,
As on our smiling eyes his servant-sun.

Thick in yon stream of light, a thousand ways,
Upward, and downward, thwarting, and convolvid,
The quivering nations sport; till, tempest-wing'd,
Fierce Winter sweeps them from the face of day.
Ev'n so luxurious men, unheeding, pass
An idle summer-life in fortune's shine,
A season'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 swarms the village o'er the jovial mead:
The rustic youth, brown with meridian toil,
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 on her cheek.
Ev'n stooping age is here: and infant hands
Trail the long rake, or, with the fragrant load
O'ercharg'd, amid the kind oppression roll.
Wide flies the tedded grain; all in a row

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