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How soon obedient Flora brought her store,
And o'er thy breast a shower of fragrance flung : Vertumnus came ; his earliest blooms he bore,
And thiy rich sides with waving purple hung:
Then to the fight he call d yon stately spire,
He pierc'd th' opposing oak’s luxuriant shade. Bad yonder crowding hawthorns low retire,
Nor veil the glories of the golden mead.
Hail, fylvan wonders, bail! and hail the hand
Whose native talle thy native charms display d, And taught one little acre to command
Each envied happiness of scene and Made.
Is there a hill whose distant azure bounds
The ample range of Scarsdale's proud domain, A mountain huar, that yon' wild peak surrounds,
But lends a willing beauty to thy plain ?
And, lo! in yonder path, 1 spy my friend ;
He looks the guardian genius of the grove, Mild as the fabled form that whilom deign’d,
At Milton's call, in Hartfeld's launts to rove,
Bless'd spirit, come! tho' pent in mortal mould,
invoke thee by that purer name ; O come, a portion of thy biiss unfold,
From folly's maze my wayward Ateps reclaim.
* See the description of the Genius of the Wood in Milton's Arcades,
For know by lot, from Jove I am the power
Too long alas my inexperienc'd youth,
Milled by flatt'ring fortune's specious tale, Has left the rural reign of peace and truth,
The huddling brook, and cave, and whisp’ring vale.
Won to the world, a candidate for praise,
Yet, let me boast, by no ignoble art. Too oft the public ear has heard my lays,
Too much its vain applause has touch'd my heart :
But now 'ere custom binds his powerful chains,
Come from the base enchanter set me free, While yet my soul its first beft taste retains,
Recall that soul to reason, peace, and thee.
Teach me, like thee, to muse on nature's page,
To mark each wonder in creation's plan, Each mode of being trace, and humbly sage,
Deduce from these the genuine powers of man.
while warm'd with reason's purer ray, No tool of policy, no dupe to pride ; Before vain science led his taste astray ;
When conscience was his law, and God his guide.
This let me learn, and learning let me live
The lesson o'er. From that great guide of truth O may my suppliant soul the boon receive
To tread thro' age the footiteps of thy youth.
Written in 1758.
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the fight,
Save that from yonder ivy-maotled tow'r
Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade,
The breezy call of incense-breathing Morn,
i For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield,
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Nor you, ye Proud, impute to These the fault,
Can storied urn or animated bust
Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; Hands, that the rod of empire might have fway'd, Or wak'd to extafy the living lyre. But Knowledge to their eyes her ample paso Rich with the spoils of Time did ne'er unroll; Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the foul. Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear; Full
many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the defart aira
Some village - Hampden, that with dauntless breast
Far from the madding crowds ignoble frife