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The long-refounding Voice, oft-breaking clear,
At folemn Pauses, thro' the swelling Bass;
And, as each mingling Flame increases each.
In one united Ardor rife to Heaven.

Or, if you rather chuse the rural Shade,
And find a Fane in every facred Grove;
There let the Shepherd's Flute, the Virgin's Lay,
The prompting Seraph, and the Poet's Lyre,
Still fing the God of Seafons as they roll.
For me, when I forget the darling Theme,
Whether the Blossom blows, the Summer Ray
Ruffets the Plain, inspiring Autumn gleams;
Or Winter rises in the blackening East;
Be my Tongue mute, may Fancy paint no more,
And, dead to Joy, forget my Heart to beat!

Should Fate command me to the farthest Verge Of the green Earth, to diftant barbarous Climes, Rivers unknown to Song; where first the Sun Gilds Indian Mountains, or his setting Beam Flames on th' Atlantic Isles; 'tis nought to me: Since God is ever present, ever felt, In the void Waste as in the City full; And where He vital spreads there must be Joy. When even at last the folemn Hour shall come, And wing my mystic Flight to future Worlds, I chearful will obey; there, with new Powers, Will rifing Wonders fing; I cannot go Where univerfal Love not smiles around, Sustaining all yon' Orbs, and all their Sons; From seeming Evil still educing Good, And Better thence again, and Better still, In infinite Progreffion. But I lose

My

Myfelf in Him, in Light ineffable!
Come then, expressive Silence, muse His Praise.

The Symphony of the Spring.

-Up-springs the Lark,

THOMSON.

Shrill-voic'd and loud, the Messenger of Morn;
Ere yet the Shadows fly, he mounted fings
Amid the dawning Clouds, and from their Haunts
Calls up the tuneful Nations. Every Copfe
Deep-tangled, Tree irregular, and Bush,
Bending with dewy Moisture o'er the Heads
Of the coy Quirifters that lodge within,
Are prodigal of Harmony. The Thrush
And Wood Lark, o'er the kind contending Throng
Superior heard, run thro' the sweetest Length
Of Notes; when listening Philomela deigns
To let them joy, and purposes, in Thought
Elate, to make her Night excel their Day.
The Blackbird whistles from the thorny Brake;
The mellow Bull-finch answers from the Grove:
Nor are the Linnets, o'er the flowering Furze
Pour'd out profufely, filent. Join'd to these
Innumerous Songsters, in the freshening Shade
Of new sprung Leaves, their Modulations mix
Mellifluous. The Jay, the Rook, the Daw,
And each harsh Pipe discordant heard alone,
Aid the full Concert: While the Stock Dove breathes
A melancholy Murmur thro' the Whole.

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THOMSON.

The Dawn of Summer's Day.

W

HITE break the Clouds away. With

quicken'd Step,

Brown Night retires. Young Day pours in apace,
And opens all the lawny Prospect wide.

The dripping Rock, the Mountain's misty Top
Swell on the Sight, and brighten with the Dawn.
Blue, thro' the Dusk, the smoaking Currents shine;
And from the bladed Field the fearful Hare
Limps aukward; while along the Foreft Glade
The wild Deer trip, and often turning gaze
At early Pafsenger. Music awakes,
The native Voice of undissembled Joy;
And thick around the woodland Hymns arise.
Rous'd by the Cock, the foon-clad Shepherd leaves
His moffy Cottage, where with Peace he dwells;
And from the crouded Fold, in Order, drives
His Flock, to taste the Verdure of the Morn.

SUN-RISING.

THOMSON.

UT yonder comes the powerful King of Day,

B Rejoicing in the East. The lefening Cloud

The kindling Azure, and the Mountain's Brow
Illum'd with fluid Gold, his near Approach
Betoken glad. Lo! now apparent all,
Aflant the Dew-bright Earth, and colour'd Air,
He looks in boundless Majesty abroad :
And sheds the shining Day, that burnish'd plays
On Rocks, and Hills, and Towers, and wandering

Streams,

High-gleaming from afar. Prime Chearer Light!

Of

SON Of all material Beings first, and best!

Efflux divine! Nature's resplendent Robe!
Without whose vefting Beauty all were wrapt
In unessential Gloom; and thou, O Sun!
Soul of furrounding Worlds! in whom best seen
Shines out thy Maker! may I fing of thee?

I

HYMN to the SUN.

THOMSON.

NFORMER of the Planetary Train!

Without whose quickening Glance their cumbrous

Orbs

Were brute unlovely Mass, inert and dead,
And not as now the green Abodes of Life;
How many Forms of Being wait on thee!
Inhaling Spirit; from th' unfetter'd Mind,
By thee fublim'd, down to the daily Race,
The mixing Myriads of thy setting Beam.

The vegetable World is also thine,
Parent of Seasons! round thy beaming Car,
High-feen, the Seasons lead, in sprightly Dance
Harmonious knit, the rosy-finger'd Hours,
The Zephyrs floating loose, the timely Rains,
Of Bloom ætherial the light-footed Dews,
And foften'd into Joy the furly Storms.
These, in successive Turn, with lavish Hand,
Shower every Beauty, every Fragrance shower,
Herbs, Flowers, and Fruits; 'till kindling at thy

Touch,

From Land, to Land is flush'd the vernal Year.

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 blacken'd Flood,
Softens at thy Return. The Desart joys
Wildly, thro' 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 fing,
Are to thy Beauty, Dignity, and Ufe,
Unequal far, great delegated Source

Of Light, and Life, and Grace, and Joys below!

How shall I then attempt to fing of Him, Who, Light himself, in uncreated Light Invested deep, dwells awfully retir'd From mortal Eye, or Angel's purer Ken; Whose single Smile has, from the first of Time, Fill'd, overflowing, all those Lamps of Heaven, That beam for ever thro' 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 fault'ring Tongue of Man, Almighty Father! filent in thy Praise, Thy Works themselves would raise a general Voice, Even in the Depth of folitary Woods, By human Foot untrod, proclaim thy Power, And to the Quire celestial Thee refound, Th' eternal Caufe, Support, and End of all!

The

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