Scarce staining ether; but by swift degrees, In heaps on heaps, the doubling vapour sails Along the loaded sky, and mingling deep Sits on the' horizon round a settled gloom : Not 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 breath Is heard to quiver through the closing woods, Or rustling turn the many-twinkling leaves Of aspin tall. The' uncurling floods, diffused In glassy breadth, seem through delusive lapse Forgetful of their course. "Tis silence all, And pleasing expectation. Herds and flocks Drop the dry sprig, and mute-imploring eye The falling verdure. Hush'd in short suspense, The plumy people streak their wings with oil, To throw the lucid moisture trickling off; And wait the' approaching sign to strike, at once, Into the general choir. Even mountains, vales, And forests seem, impatient, to demand The promised sweetness. Man superior walks Amid the glad creation, musing praise, And looking lively gratitude. At last, The clouds consign their treasures to the fields; And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow, In large effusion, o'er the freshened world. The stealing shower is scarce to patter heard, By such as wander through the forest walks, Beneath the' umbrageous multitude of leaves. But who can hold the shade, while Heaven de- scends
In universal bounty, shedding herbs,
And fruits, and flowers, on Nature's ample lap? Swift Fancy fired anticipates their growth; And, while the milky nutriment distils, Beholds the kindling country colour round. Thus all day long the full distended clouds Indulge their genial stores, and well-shower'd earth Is deep enrich'd with vegetable life;
Till, in the western sky, the downward sun Looks out, effulgent, from amid the flush Of broken clouds, gay-shifting to his beam. The rapid radiance instantaneous strikes The' illumined mountain, through the forest streams,
Shakes on the floods, and in a yellow mist, Far smoking o'er the' interminable plain, In twinkling myriads lights the dewy gems. Moist, bright, and green, the landscape laughs around.
Full swell the woods; their every music wakes, Mix'd in wild concert with the warbling brooks Increased, the distant bleatings of the hills, And hollow lows responsive from the vales, Whence, blending all, the sweeten'd zephyr springs. Meantime, réfracted from yon eastern cloud, Bestriding earth, the grand etherial bow Shoots up immense; and every hue unfolds, In fair proportion running from the red, To where the violet fades into the sky. Here, awful Newton, the dissolving clouds Form, fronting on the Sun, thy showery prism; And to the sage-instructed eye unfold
The various twine of light, by thee disclosed From the white mingling maze. Not so the boy;
He wondering views the bright enchantment bend, Delightful, o'er the radiant fields, and runs To catch the falling glory; but amazed Beholds the' amusive arch before him fly, Then vanish quite away. Still night succeeds, A soften'd shade, and saturated earth Awaits the morning-beam, to give to light, Raised through ten thousand different plastic tubes, The balmy treasures of the former day.
Then spring the living herbs, profusely wild, O'er all the deep-green earth, beyond the power Of botanist to number up their tribes: Whether he steals along the lonely dale, In silent search; or through the forest, rank With what the dull incurious weeds account, Bursts his blind way; or climbs the mountain rock, Fired by the nodding verdure of its brow. With such a liberal hand has Nature flung Their seeds abroad, blown them about in winds, Innumerous mix'd them with the nursing mould, The moistening current, and prolific rain.
But who their virtues can declare? who pierce, With vision pure, into these secret stores Of health, and life, and joy? the food of man, While yet he lived in innocence, and told A 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. The first fresh dawn then waked the gladden'd
Of uncorrupted man, nor blush'd to see The sluggard sleep beneath its sacred beam; For their light slumbers gently fumed away;
And up they rose as vigorous as the Sun, Or to the culture of the willing glebe, Or to the cheerful tendance of the flock. Meantime the song went round; and dance and Wisdom and friendly talk, successive, stole Their hours away: while in the rosy vale Love breathed his infant sighs, from anguish free, And full replete with bliss; save the sweet pain, That inly thrilling but exalts it more.
Not yet injurious act, nor surly deed, Was known among those happy sons of Heaven; For 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 Sun Shot his best rays, and still the gracious clouds Dropp'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 heart
Was meeken'd, and he join'd his sullen joy. For music held the whole in perfect peace: Soft sigh'd the flute; the tender voice was heard, Warbling the varied heart: the woodlands round Applied their quire; and winds and waters flow'd In consonance. Such were those prime of days.
But now those white unblemish'd manners, The fabling poets took their golden age, [whence Are found no more amid these iron times, These dregs of life! now the distemper'd mind Has lost that concord of harmonious powers, Which forms the soul of happiness; and all Is off the poise within: the passions all Have burst their bounds; and reason, half extinct,
Or impotent, or else approving, sees The foul disorder. Senseless, and deform'd, Convulsive anger storms at large; or pale, And silent, settles into full revenge. Base envy withers at another's joy, And hates that excellence it cannot reach. Desponding fear, of feeble fancies full, Weak 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 more That noble wish, that never-cloy'd desire, Which, selfish joy disdaining, seeks alone To 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. These, and a thousand mix'd emotions more, From ever-changing views of good and ill, Form'd infinitely various, vex the mind [grows With endless storm: whence, deeply rankling, The partial thought, a listless unconcern, Cold, and averting from our neighbour's good; Then dark disgust, and hatred, winding wiles, Coward deceit, and ruffian violence:
At last, extinct each social feeling, fell And joyless inhumanity pervades
And petrifies the heart. Nature disturb'd Is deem'd, vindictive, to have changed her course. Hence, in old dusky time, a deluge came: When the deep-cleft disparting orb, that arch'd The central waters round, impetuous rush'd, With universal burst, into the gulf,
And o'er the high-piled hills of fractured earth
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