All but the fwellings of the foften'd heart,
That waken, not disturb, the tranquil mind.
BEHOLD yon breathing prospect bids the Mufe
Throw all her beauty forth. But who can paint
Like Nature? Can imagination boast,
Amid its gay creation, hues like hers?
Or can it mix them with that matchlefs skill,
And lose them in each other, as appears
In every bud that blows? If fancy then
Unequal fails beneath the pleasing task,
Ah what shall language do? ah where find words
Ting'd with fo many colours; and whofe power,
To life approaching, may perfume my lays
With that fine oil, thofe aromatic gales,
That inexhauftive flow continual round?
YET, tho' fuccefslefs, will the toil delight.
Come then, ye virgins and ye youths, whofe hearts
Have felt the raptures of refining love;
And thou, AMANDA, come, pride of my fong!
Form'd by the Graces, loveliness itself!
Come with thofe downcaft eyes, fedate and fweet, 485
Thefe looks demure, that deeply pierce the foul,
Where, with the light of thoughtful reafon mix'd,
Shines lively fancy and the feeling heart:
Oh come! and while the rofy footed May
Steals blushing on, together let us tread
The morning-dews, and gather in their prime
Fresh-blooming flowers, to grace thy braided hair,
And thy lov'd bofom that improves their fweets.
SEE, where the winding vale its lavish ftores,
Irriguous, fpreads. See, how the lily drinks
The latent rill, fcarce oozing thro' the grafs,
Of growth luxuriant; or the humid bank,
In fair profufion, decks. Long let us walk,
Where the breeze blows from yon extended field
Of bloffom'd beans. Arabia cannot boast
A fuller gale of joy, than, liberal, thence
Breathes thro' the fenfe, and takes the ravish'd foul.
Nor is the mead unworthy of thy foot,
Full of fresh verdure, and unnumber'd flowers,
The negligence of Nature, wide, and wild;
Where, undifguis'd by mimic Art, she fpreads
Unbounded beauty to the roving eye.
Here their delicious task the fervent bees,
In fwarming millions, tend: around, athwart,
Thro' the foft air, the bufy nations fly,
Cling to the bud, and, with inferted tube,
Suck its pure effence, its ethereal foul:
And oft, with bolder wing, they foaring dare
The purple heath, or where the wild thyme grows,
And yellow load them with the luscious fpoil.
AT length the finish'd garden to the view
Its viftas opens, and its alleys green.
Snatch'd thro' the verdant maze, the hurried eye
Distracted wanders; now the bowery walk
Of covert clofe, where scarce a speck of day
Falls on the lengthen'd gloom, protracted sweeps :
Now meets the bending sky; the river now
Dimpling along, the breezy-ruffled lake,
The foreft darkening round, the glittering fpire,
Th' ethereal mountain, and the diftant main.
But why so far excurfive? when at hand,
Along thefe blushing borders, bright with dew,
And in yon mingled wildernefs of flowers,
B 3
Fair-handed Spring unbofoms every grace;
Throws out the fnow-drop, and the crocus firft;
The daify, primrose, violet darkly blue,
And polyanthus of unnumber'd dyes;
The yellow wall-flower, ftain'd with iron brown;
And lavish ftock that fcents the garden round.
From the foft wing of vernal breezes shed,
Anemonies; auriculas, enrich'd
With shining meal o'er all their velvet leaves;
And full ranunculas, of glowing red.
Then comes the tulip-race, where Beauty plays
Her idle freaks; from family diffus'd
To family, as flies the father-duft,
The varied colours run; and, while they break
On the charm'd eye, th' exulting florift marks,
With fecret pride, the wonders of his hand.
No gradual bloom is wanting; from the bud,
First-born of Spring, to Summer's musky tribes:
Nor hyacinths, of pureft virgin white,
Low-bent, and blushing inward; nor jonquils,
Of potent fragrance; nor Narciffus fair,
As o'er the fabled fountain hanging ftill;
Nor broad carnations; nor gay-fpotted pinks;
Nor, shower'd from every bush, the damask-rofe.
Infinite numbers, delicacies, fmells,
With hues on hues expreffion cannot paint,
The breath of Nature, and her endless bloom.
HAIL, SOURCE OF BEING! UNIVERSAL SOUL Of Heaven and earth! ESSENTIAL PRESENCE, hail! To THEE I bend the knee; to THEE my thoughts, Continual, climb; who, with a mafter-hand Haft the great whole into perfection touch'd.
By THEE the various vegetative tribes,
Wrapt in a filmy net, and clad with leaves,
Draw the live ether, and imbibe the dew:
By THEE difpos'd into congenial foils,
Stands each attractive plant, and fucks, and fwells 565
The juicy tide; a twining mafs of tubes.
At THY command the vernal fun awakes
The torpid fap, detruded to the root
By wintry winds; that now in fluent dance,
And lively fermentation, mounting, spreads
All this innumerous-colour'd fcene of things,
As rifing from the vegetable world
My theme afcends, with equal wing afcend,
My panting Mufe; and hark, how loud the woods Invite you forth in all your gayeft trim.
Lend me your fong, ye nightingales! oh pour
The mazy-running foul of melody
Into my varied verfe! while I deduce,
From the first note the hollow cuckoo fings,
The fymphony of Spring, and touch a theme
Unknown to fame, the Paffion of the groves.
WHEN firft the foul of love is fent abroad,
Warm thro' the vital air, and on the heart
Harmonious feizes, the gay troops begin,
In gallant thought, to plume the painted wing;
And try again the long-forgotten strain,
At first faint-warbled. But no fooner grows
The foft infufion prevalent, and wide,
Than, all alive, at once their joy o'erflows
In mufic unconfin'd. Up-fprings the lark,
Shrill voic'd, and loud, the meffenger 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 liftening Philomela deigns
To let them joy, and purposes, in thought
Elate, to make her night excel their day.
The black-bird whiftles from the thorny brake;
The mellow bullfinch answers from the grove:
Not are the linnets, o'er the flowering furze
Pour'd out profufely filent. Join'd to these
Innumerous fongfters, in the freshening shade
Of new-fprung leaves, their modulations mix
Mellifluous. The jay, the rook, the daw,
And each harsh pipe, difcordant heard alone,
Aid the full concert: while the ftock-dove breathes
A melancholy murmur thro' the whole.
'Tis love creates their melody, and all
This waste of mufic is the voice of love;
That even to birds, and beafts, the tender arts
Of pleafing teaches. Hence the gloffy kind
Try every winning way inventive love
Can dictate, and in courtship to their mates
Pour forth their little fouls. First, wide around,
With diftant awe, in airy rings they rove,
Endeavouring by a thousand tricks to catch
The cunning, conscious, half-averted glance
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