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Ana every sense, and every heart, is joy.
Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide, Then comes thy glory in the summer months, From world to world, the vital ocean round, With light and heart refulgent. Then thy sun On nature write with every beam his praise. Shoots full perfection through the swelling year; The thunder rolls; be hush'd the prostrate world, And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks- While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn. And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve,
Bleat out afresh, ye hills; ye mossy rocks, By brooks and groves, in hollow-whispering gales. Retain the sound; the broad responsive low, Thy bounty shines in autumn unconfined,
Ye valleys, raise; for the great Shepherd reigns; And spreads a common feast for all that lives. And his unsuffering kingdom yet will come. In winter, awful thou! with clouds and storms Ye woodlands all, awake; a boundless song Around thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest roll’d, Burst from the groves; and when the restless day, Majestic darkness! on the whirlwind's wing
Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep, Riding sublime, thou bidd'st the world adore,
Sweetest of birds! sweet Philomela charm And humblest nature with thy northern blast. The listening, shades and teach the night his praiso
Mysterious round! what skill, what force divine, Yechief, for whom the whole creation smiles, Deep felt, in these appear! a simple train,
As once the head, the heart, and tongue of all. Yet so delightful mix'd, with such kind art,
Crown the great hymn! in swarming cicies vast, Such beauty and beneficence combined;
Assembled men, to the deep organ join Shade, unperceived, so softening into shade;
The long-resounding voice, oft breaking clear, And all so forming an harmonious whole;
At solemn pauses, through the sweining base; That, as they still succeed, they ravish still.
And, as each mingling flame increases each,
And find a fane in every sacred grove;
Still sing the God of seasons, as they roll.
Whether the blossom blows, the summer ray With transport touches all the springs of life. Russets the plain, inspiring autumn gleams, Nature, attend! join every living soul,
Or winter rises in the blackening east, Beneath the spacious temple of the sky,
Be my tongue mute—my fancy paint no more, In adoration join; and, ardent, raise
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat! One general song! To him ye vocal gales,
Should fate command me to the farthest verge Breathe soft, whose Spirit in your freshness breathes : Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes, Oh talk of him in solitary glooms!
Rivers unknown to song—where first the sun Where, o'er the rock, the scarcely waving pine Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam Fills the brown shade with a religious awe.
Flames on the Atlantic isles—'tis nought to me: And ye whose bolder note is heard afar,
Since God is ever present, ever felt,
When even at last the solemn hour shall come, And let me catch it as I muse along.
And wing my mystic flight to future worlds, Ye headlong torrents, rapid, and profound;
I cheerful will obey; there, with new powers, Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze
Will rising wonders sing, I cannot go Along the vale; and thou, majestic main,
Where universal love not smiles around,
Sustaining all your orbs, and all their sons,
And better thence again, and better still,
Myself in Him in light ineffable!
Come then, expressive silence, muse his praise.
On this side and on that, men see their friends Ye constellations, while your angels strike,
Drop off, like leaves in autumn; yet launch out Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre.
Into fantastic schemes, which the long livers Great source of day! best image here below
In the world's hall and undegen'rate days
Whose ev'ry day was made of melody,
Could scarce have leisure for.–Fools that we are,
Where are the mighty thunderbolts of war? The Roman Cæsars and the Grecian chiefs, The boast of story? Where the hot-brained youth, Who the tiara at his pleasure tore From kings of all then discovered globe; And cried, foresooth, because his arm was hampered, And had not room enough to do its work? Alas, how slim-dishonourably slim! And crammed into a space we blush to name! Proud royalty! How altered is thy looks! How blank thy features, and how wan thy hue! Son of the morning! whither art thou gone? Where hast thou hid thy many-spangled head, And the majestic menace of thine eyes Felt from afar? Pliant and powerless now: Like new.born infant wound up in his swathes, Or victim tumbled flat upon his back, That throbs beneath his sacrificer's knife; Mute must thou bear the strife of little tongues, And coward insults of the base-born crowd, That grudge a privilege thou never hadst, But only hoped for in the peaceful graveOf being unmolested and alone! Arabia's gums and odoriferous drugs, And honours by the heralds duly paid In mode and form, e'en to a very scruple (O cruel irony!); these come too late, And only mock when they were meant to honour!
Strength, too! thou surely and less gently boast
While the distemper's rank and deadly venom
We'll have some music— if you're willing; Shoots like a burning arrow 'cross his bowels,
And Roger-h’m, what a plague a cough is, sirAnd drinks his marrow up. Heard you that groan? Shall march a little. Start, you villian: It was his last. See how the great Goliah,
Stand straight, 'bout face, salute your officer. Just like a child that brawled itself to rest,
Put up that paw-dress—take
your rifle Lies still. What mean'st thou then, O mighty (Some dogs have arms, you see), now, hold you boaster,
Cap while the gentlemen give a trifle
March, halt-now, show how the rebel shakes That, knowing well the slackness of his arm,
When he stands up to hear his sentence; Trusts only in the well invented knife?
Now tell how many drams it takes
To honour a jolly new acquaintance.
Five yelps! that's five, he's mighty knowing.
The night's before us—fill the glasses;
Quick, sir; I'm ill, my brain is going-
Some brandy?—thank you—there, it passes! Roger's my dog. Come here, you scamp! Jump for the gentleman-mind your eye!
Why not reform--that's easily said: Over the table, look out for the lamp
But I've gone through such wretched treatment, The rogue is growing a little old:
Sometimes forgetting the taste of bread, Five years we've tramped through wind and And scarce remembering what meat meant, weather,
That my poor stomach's past reform; And slept out.doors when nights were cold,
And there are times when, mad with thinking, And ate and drank-and starved together.
I'd sell out heaven for something warm
To prop a horrible inward sinking.
Is there a way to forget to think?
At your age, sir, home, fortune, friends The paw he holds up there's been frozen),
A dear girl's love—but I took to drinkPlenty of catgut for my fiddle
The same old story; you know how it ends. This out-door business is bad for strings
If you could have seen these classic features And a few nice buck-wheats hot from the griddle, You need'nt laugh, sir, they were not then And Roger and I set up for kings.
Such a burning libel on God's creatures,
I was one of your handsome men.
If you had have seen her, so fair and young, Aren't we Roger? See him wink!
Whose head was happy on this breast; Well, something hot, then, we won't quarrel. If you could have heard the songs I sung He's thirsty, too, see him nod his head!
When the wine went round, you would'nt have What a pity, sir, that dogs can't talk!
guessed, He understands every word that's said
That ever I, sir, should be straying
Ragged and penniless, and playing
To you to-night for a glass of grog.
She's married since-a parson's wife: (Here's to you, sir) even of my dog.
'Twas beiter for her that we should part, But he sticks by, through thick and thin;
Better the soberest prosiest life And this old coat with its empty pockets,
Than a blasted home and a broken heart, And rags that smell of tobacco and gin,
Have I seen her?—once: I was weak and speni: He'll follow while he has eyes in his sockets.
On the dusty road a carriage stopped;
But little she dreamed as on she went, There isn't another creature living
Who kiss'd the coin that her fingers dropped. Would do it, and prove through every disaster So fond, so faithful, and so forgiving
You've set me talking, sir; I'm sorry: To such a miserable, thankless master.
It makes me wild to think of the changema No, sir-see him wag his tail and grin!
What d'ye care for a beggar's story: By George, it makes my old eyes water!
Is it amusing 1-you find it strangei That is, there's something in this gin
I had a mother so proud of me; That chokes a fellow-but no matter.
'Twas well she died before. Do ya kuow
If the happy spirits in heaven can see
The ruined and wretchedness here below?
Another glass, and strong!-to deaden
This pain; then Roger and I will start. I wonder has he such a lumpish leaden
Aching thing in place of a heart? He is sad sometimes, and would weep if he could,
No doubt remembering things that wereA virtuous kennel with plenty of food,
And himself a sober respectable cur.
In heaven Ambition cannot dwell,
But Love is indestructible :
It here is tried and purified,
The day of woe, the watchful night,
An over-payment of delight?
I'm better now—that glass was warming:
You rascal limber your lazy feet; We must be fiddling and performing
For supper and bed-or starve in the street. Not a very gay life to lead, you think?
But soon we will go where lodgings are free, And the sleepers need neither victuals nor drink
The sooner the better for Roger and me.