The plovers when to fcatter o'er the heath,
And fing their wild notes to the listening waste.
At laft from Aries rolls the bounteous fun,
And the bright Bull receives him. Then no more
Th' expanfive atmosphere is cramp'd with cold;
But, full of life and vivifying foul,
Lifts the light clouds fublime, and fpreads them thin,
Fleecy and white, o'er all-furrounding heaven.
Forth fly the tepid airs; and unconfin'd,
Unbinding earth, the moving foftness strays.
Joyous, th' impatient husbandman perceives
Relenting Nature, and his lufty fteers
Drives from their ftalls, to where the well-us'd plough
Lies in the furrow, loofened from the froft.
There, unrefufing, to the harness'd yoke
They lend their shoulder, and begin their toil,
Chear'd by the fimple fong and foaring lark.
Meanwhile incumbent o'er the fhining fhare
The mafter leans, removes th' obftructing clay,
Winds the whole work, and fidelong lays the glebe.
White thro' the neighbouring fields the fower stalks,
With meafur'd step; and liberal throws the grain
Into the faithful bofom of the ground:
The harrow follows harfh, and fhuts the scene.
Be gracious, HEAVEN! for now laborious Man
Has done his part. Ye fostering breezes, blow!
Ye foftening dews, ye tender fhowers defcend!
And temper all, thou world-reviving fun,
Into the perfect year! Nor ye who live
In luxury and eafe, in pomp and pride,
Think thefe loft themes unworthy of your ear:
Such themes as thefe the rural MARO fung
To wide-imperial ROME, in the full height
Of elegance and tafte, by GREECE refin'd.
In ancient times, the facred plough employ'd
The kings, and awful fathers of mankind:
And fome, with whom compar'd your infect-tribes
Are but the beings of a summer's day,
Have held the fcale of empire, rul'd the ftorm
Of mighty war; then, with unwearied hand,
Disdaining little delicacies, feiz'd
The plough, and greatly independent liv'd.
Ye generous BRITONS, venerate the plough; And o'er your hills, and long withdrawing vales, Let Autumn spread his treasures to the fun, Luxuriant and unbounded: as the fea,
Far thro' his azure turbulent domain,
Your empire owns, and from a thousand fhores
Wafts all the pomp of life into your ports;
So with fuperior boon may your rich foil,
Exuberant, Nature's better bleffings pour
O'er every land, the naked nations clothe,
And be th' exhaustless granary of a world!
Nor only thro' the lenient air this change,
Delicious, breathes; the penetrative fun,
His force deep-darting to the dark retreat
Of vegetation, fets the fteaming Power
At large, to wander o'er the vernant earth,
In various hues; but chiefly thee, gay Green!
Thou fmiling Nature's univerfal robe!
United light and fhade! where the fight dwells
With growing strength, and ever-new delight.
From the moist meadow to the withered hill,
Led by the breeze, the vivid verdure runs,
And fwells, and deepens, to the cherifh'd eye.
The hawthorn whitens; and the juicy groves
Put forth their buds, unfolding by degrees,
Till the whole leafy forest stands display'd,
In full luxuriance to the fighing gales;
Where the deer ruftle thro' the twining brake,
And the birds fing conceal'd. At once array'd
In all the colours of the flufhing year,
By Nature's fwift and fecret-working hand,
The garden glows, and fills the liberal air
With lavifh fragrance; while the promis'd fruit
Lies yet a little embryo, unperceiv'd,
Within its crimfon folds. Now from the town
Buried in fmoke, and fleep, and noisome damps,
Oft let me wander o'er the dewy fields,
Where freshness breathes, and dafh the trembling drops From the bent bufh, as thro' the verdant maze
Of fweet-briar hedges I purfue my walk;
Or tafte the smell of dairy; or afcend
Some eminence, AUGUSTA, in thy plains,
And fee the country, far diffus'd around,
One boundless blufh, one white-empurpled fhower
Of mingled bloffoms; where the raptur'd eye
Hurries from joy to joy, and, hid beneath
The fair profufion, yellow Autumn fpies:
If, brufh'd from Ruffian wilds, a cutting gale
Rife not, and scatter from his humid wings
The clammy mildew; or, dry-blowing, breathe
Untimely froft; before whofe baleful blast
The full-blown Spring thro' all her foliage fhrinks,
Joylefs and dead, a wide-dejected waste.
For oft, engender'd by the hazy north,
Myriads on myriads, infect armies warp
Keen in the poison'd breeze; and wasteful eat,
Thro' buds and bark, into the blackened core,
A feeble race! yet oft
The facred fons of vengeance; on whose course
Corrofive famine waits, and kills the year.
To check this plague the skilful farmer chaff,
And blazing ftraw, before his orchard burns;
Till, all involv'd in smoke, the latent foe
From every cranny fuffocated falls:
Or scatters o'er the blooms the pungent duft
Of pepper, fatal to the frosty tribe:
Or, when th' envenom'd leaf begins to curl,
With sprinkled water drowns them in their neft;
Nor, while they pick them up with bufy bill,
The little trooping birds unwifely fcares.
Be patient, fwains; thefe cruel-feeming winds Blow not in vain. Far hence they keep reprefs'd Thofe deep'ning clouds on clouds, furcharg'd with rain, That o'er the vaft Atlantic hither borne,
In endless train, would quench the fummer-blaze,
And, chearlefs, drown the crude unripened year.
The north-east spends his rage; he now fhut up
Within his iron cave, th' effufive fouth
Warms the wide air, and o'er the void of heaven
Breathes the big clouds with vernal showers diftent.
At first a dufky wreath they seem to rife,
Scarce ftaining ether; but by swift degrees,
In heaps on heaps, the doubling vapour fails
Along the loaded sky, and mingling deep
Sits on th' horizon round a fettled gloom :
Not fuch as wintry-ftorms on mortals shed,
Oppreffing life; but lovely, gentle, kind,
And full of every hope and every joy,
The wifh of Nature. Gradual finks the breeze
Into a perfect calm; that not a breath
Is heard to quiver thro' the clofing woods,
Or rustling turn the many twinkling leaves
Of afpin tall. Th' uncurling floods, diffus'd
In glaffy breadth, feem thro' delufive lapfe
Forgetful of their courfe. 'Tis filence all,
And pleasing expectation. Herds and flocks
Drop the dry fprig, and mute-imploring eye
The falling verdure. Hufh'd in fhort fufpenfe,
The plumy people ftreak their wings with oil,
To throw the lucid moisture trickling off;
And wait th' approaching fign to ftrike, at once,
Into the general choir. Even mountains, vales,
And forests feem, impatient, to demand
The promis'd fweetnefs. Man fuperior walks
Amid the glad creation, mufing praise,
And looking lively gratitude. At last,
The clouds confign their treasures to the fields;
And, foftly fhaking on the dimpled pool
Prelufive drops, let all their moisture flow,
In large effufion, o'er the freshened world.
The ftealing fhower is fcarce to patter heard,
By fuch as wander thro' the forest walks,
Beneath the umbrageous multitude of leaves.
But who can hold the fhade, while Heaven defcends
In univerfal bounty, fhedding herbs,
And fruits, and flowers, on Nature's ample lap?
Swift fancy fir'd anticipates their growth;
And, while the milky nutriment distils,
Beholds the kindling country colour round.
Thus all day long the full-diftended clouds
Indulge their genial stores, and well-fhower'd earth
Is deep enrich'd with vegetable life;
Till, in the western sky, the downward fun
Looks out, effulgent, from amid the flush
Of broken clouds, gay-fhifting to his beam.
The rapid radiance inftantaneous strikes
Th'illumin'd mountain, thro' the foreft ftreams,
Shakes on the floods, and in a yellow mist,
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