The lord, and not the tyrant of the world,
THE first fresh dawn then wak'd the gladdened raceOf uncorrupted Man, nor blush'd to fee
The fluggard fleep beneath its facred beam:
For their, light flumbers gently fum'd away;
And up they rofe as vigorous as the fun,
Or to the culture of the willing glebe,
Or to the chearful tendance of the flock.
Meantime the fong went round; and dance and fport,
Wisdom and friendly talk, fucceffive stole
Their hours away. While in the rofy vale
Love breath'd his infant fighs, from anguish free,
And full replete with blifs; fave the sweet pain,
That, inly thrilling, but exalts it more.
Nor yet injurious act, nor furly deed,
Was known among these happy fons of HEAVEN ;.
For reafon and benevolence were law.
Harmonious Nature too look'd fmiling on.
Clear fhone the fkies, cool'd with eternal gales,
And balmy fpirit all. The youthful fun
Shot his best rays, and ftill the gracious clouds
Drop'd fatnefs down; as o'er the fwelling mead,
The herds and flocks, commixing, play'd secure.
This when, emergent from the gloomy wood,
The glaring lion faw, his horrid heart
Was meekened, and he join'd his fullen joy.
For mufic held the whole in perfect peace :
Soft figh'd the flute; the tender voice was heard,
Warbling the varied heart; the woodlands round Apply'd their quire; and winds and waters flow'd 270 In confonance. Such were thofe prime of days..
But now thofe white unblemish'd minutes, whence The fabling poets took their golden age,
Are found no more amid thefe iron times,
Thefe dregs of life! Now the diftemper'd mind 275
Has loft that concord of harmonious powers,
Which forms the foul of happiness; and all
Is off the poife within the paffions all
Have burft their bounds; and reason half extinct,
Or impotent, or elfe approving, fees,
The foul diforder. Senfelefs, and deform'd,
Convulfive anger ftorms at large; or pale,
And filent, fettles inta fell revenge..
Bafe envy withers at another's joy,
And hates that excellence it cannot reach.
Defponding fear, of feeble fancies full,
Weak and unmanly, loofens every power.
Even love itself is bitterness of foul,
A penfive anguish pining at the heart;
Or, funk to fordid intereft, feels no more
That noble wifh, that never cloy'd defire,.
Which, felfish joy difdaining, seeks alone
To blefs the dearer object of its flame.
Hope fickens with extravagance; and grief,.
Of life impatient, into madness fwells;
Or in dead filence waftes 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
With endless storm. Whence, deeply rankling, grows The partial thought, a listlefs 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 focial feeling, fell
And joyless inhumanity pervades
And petrifies the heart. Nature disturb'd
Is deem'd, vindictive, to have chang'd her courfe.
HENCE, in old dusky time, a deluge came : When the deep-cleft difparting orb, that arch'd 310 The central waters round, impetuous rush'd, With univerfal burst, into the gulph, And o'er the high-pil'd hills of fractur'd earth Wide-dafh'd the waves, in undulation vast; Till, from the center to the streaming clouds, A shoreless ocean tumbled round the globe.
THE Seasons fince have, with feverer fway, Opprefs'd a broken world: the Winter keen Shook forth his wafte of fnows; and Summer fhot His peftilential heats. Great Spring, before, 320 Green'd all the year; and fruits and bloffoms blush'd, In social sweetness, on the self-fame bough. Pure was the temperate air; an even calm
Perpetual reign'd, fave what the zephyrs bland
Breath'd o'er the blue expanfe: for then nor ftorms 325
Were taught to blow, nor hurricanes to rage;
Sound flept the waters; no fulphureous glooms
Swell'd in the fky, and fent the lightning forth;
While fickly damps, and cold autumnal fogs,
Hung not, relaxing, on the fprings of life.
But now, of turbid elements the sport,
From clear to cloudy toft, from hot to cold,
And dry to moift, with inward-eating change,
Our drooping days are dwindled down to nought,
Their period finish'd ere 'tis well begun.
AND yet the wholesome herb neglected dies;
Tho' with the pure exhilarating foul
Of nutriment and health, and vital powers,
Beyond the fearch of art, 'tis copious bleft.
For, with hot ravine fir'd, enfanguin'd man
Is now become the lion of the plain,
And worse. The wolf, who from the nightly fold
Fierce drags the bleating prey, ne'er drunk her milk,
Nor wore her warming fleece: nor has the steer,
At whose strong cheft the deadly tyger hangs,
E'er plow'd for him. They too are temper'd high,
With hunger ftung and wild neceffity,
Nor lodges pity in their fhaggy breast.
But Man, whom Nature form'd of milder clay,
With every kind emotion in his heart,
And taught alone to weep; while from her lap
She pours ten thousand delicacies, herbs,
And fruits, as numerous as the drops of rain
Or beams that gave them birth: fhall he, fair form!
Who wears sweet smiles, and looks erect on Heaven,
E'er stoop to mingle with the prowling herd, 356
And dip his tongue in gore? The beaft of prey,
Blood-ftain'd deferves to bleed: but you, ye flocks,
What have you done; ye peaceful people, what,
To merit death? you, who have given us milk 360
In luscious ftreams, and lent us your own coat
Against the winter's cold ? and the plain ox,
That harmless, honeft, guileless animal,
In what has he offended? He, whofe toil,
Patient and ever ready, clothes the land
With all the pomp of harvest; fhall he bleed,
And struggling groan beneath the cruel hands
Even of the clown he feeds? And that perhaps,
To fwell the riot of th' autumnal feaft,
Won by his labour? Thus the feeling heart
Would tenderly fuggeft: but 'tis enough,
In this late age, adventurous, to have touch'd
Light on the numbers of the Samian fage.
High HEAVEN forbids the bold prefumptuous ftrain,
Whose wifeft will has fix'd us in a state
That must not yet to pure perfection rife.
Befides, who knows, how rais'd to higher life,
From ftage to stage, the vital fcale afcends?
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