Of willows grey, clofe-crouding o'er the brook.
GRADUAL, from thefe what numerous kinds defcend, Evading even the microscopic eye!
Full Nature fwarms with life; one wondrous mafs
Of animals, or atoms organiz'd,
Waiting the vital Breath, when PARENT-HEAVEN
Shall bid his fpirit blow. The hoary fen,
In putrid steams, emits the living cloud
Of peftilence. Thro' fubterranean cells,
Where fearching fun-beams scarce can find a way, 295
Wants not its foft inhabitants. Secure,
Within its winding citadel, the ftone
Holds multitudes. But chief the foreft-boughs,
That dance unnumber'd to the playful breeze,
The downy orchard, and the melting pulp
Of mellow fruit, the namelefs nations feed
Of evanefcent infects. Where the pool
Stands mantled o'er with green, invifible,
Amid the floating verdure millions ftray.
Each liquid too, whether it pierces, fooths,
Inflames, refreshes, or exalts the taste,
With various forms abounds. Nor is the stream
Of pureft crystal, nor the lucid air,
Tho' one tranfparent vacancy it seems,
Void of their unfeen people. These, conceal'd
By the kind art of forming HEAVEN, escape
The groffer eye of Man: for, if the worlds
In worlds inclos'd should on his fenfes burft,
From cates ambrosial, and the nectar'd bowl,
He would abhorrent turn; and in dead night,
When filence fleeps o'er all, be ftun'd with noife.
LET no prefuming impious railer tax
CREATIVE WISDOM, as if aught was form'd
In vain, or not for admirable ends.
Shall little haughty ignorance pronounce
His works unwife, of which the smallest part
Exceeds the narrow vifion of her mind?
As if upon a full-proportion'd dome,
On fwelling columns heav'd, the pride of art! 325
A critic-fly, whofe feeble ray fcarce fpreads
An inch around, with blind prefumption bold,
Should dare to tax the ftructure of the whole.
And lives the Man, whofe universal eye
Has swept at once th' unbounded scheme of things;
Mark'd their dependance fo, and firm accord,
As with unfaultering accent to conclude
That This availeth nought? Has any feen
And hymns of holy wonder, to that POWER,
Whose wisdom shines as lovely on our minds,
As on our fmiling eyes his fervant-fun.
THICK in yon ftream of light, a thousand ways, Upward, and downward, thwarting, and convolv'd, The quivering nations fport; till, tempeft-wing'd, Fierce Winter sweeps them from the face of day. Even fo luxurious Men, unheeding, pafs An idle fummer-life in fortune's fhine, A season's glitter! Thus they flutter on From toy to toy, from vanity to vice; Till, blown away by death, oblivion comes Behind, and ftrikes them from the book of life.
Now fwarms the villa
o'er the jovial mead :
The ruftic youth, brown with meridian toil,
Healthful, and ftrong; full as the fummer-rofe
Blown by prevailing funs, the ruddy maid,
Half naked, fwelling on the fight, and all
Her kindled graces burning o'er her cheek.
Even ftooping age is here, and infant-hands
Trail the long rake, or, with the fragrant load
O'ercharg'd, amid the kind oppreffion roll.
Wide flies the tedded grain; all in a row
Advancing broad, or wheeling round the field,
They spread the breathing harveft to the fun,
That throws refreshful round a rural smell:
Or, as they rake the green-appearing ground, 365
And drive the dusky wave along the mead,
The ruffet hay-cock rises thick behind,
In order gay. While heard from dale to dale,
Waking the breeze, refounds the blended voice
Of happy labour, love, and focial glee.
OR rushing thence, in one diffusive band,
They drive the troubled flocks, by many a dog
Compell'd, to where the mazy-running brook
Forms a deep pool: this bank abrupt and high,,
And That fair-spreading in a pebbled fhore.
Urg'd to the giddy brink, much is the toil,
The clamour much of men, and boys, and dogs,
Ere the foft fearful people to the flood
Commit their woolly fides.
On fome impatient feizing,
And oft the swain,
hurls them in :
Embolden'd then, nor hesitating more,
Faft, faft, they plunge amid the flashing wave,
And panting labour to the farthest shore.
Repeated this, till deep the well-wash'd fleece
Has drunk the flood, and from his lively haunt 385
The trout is banish'd by the fordid stream ;
Heavy, and dripping, to the breezy brow
Slow move the harmless race: where, as they spread
Their fwelling treasures to the funny ray,
Inly disturb'd, and wondering what this wild 390
Outrageous, tumult means, their loud complaints
The country fill; and, tofs'd from rock to rock,
Inceffant bleatings run around the hills.
At last, of fnowy white, the gather'd flocks
Are in the wattled pen innumerous prefs'd,
Head above head; and, rang'd in lufty rows
The shepherds fit, and whet the founding fhears.
The housewife waits to roll her fleecy stores,
With all her gay-dreft maids attending round.
One, chief, in gracious dignity inthron'd,
Shines o'er the reft, the paftoral queen, and rays
Her fmiles, fweet-beaming, on her fhepherd-king;
While the glad circle round them yield their fouls
To festive mirth, and wit that knows no gall.
Meantime, their joyous task goes on apace : 405
Some mingling ftir the melted tar, and fome,
Deep on the new-fhorn vagrant's heaving fide,
To ftamp his master's cypher ready stand;
Others th' unwilling wether drag along,
And, glorying in his might, the sturdy boy
Holds by the tiwsted horns th' indignant ram.
Behold where bound, and of its robe bereft,
By needy Man, that all-depending lord,
How meek, how patient, the mild creature lies!
What softness in its melancholy face,
What dumb complaining innocence appears!
Fear not, ye gentle tribes, 'tis not the knife
Of horrid flaughter that is o'er you wav'd;
No, 'tis the tender fwain's well-guided fhears,
Who having now, to pay his annual care,
Borrow'd your fleece, to you a cumbrous load,
Will fend you bounding to your hills again.
A fimple scene! yet hence BRITANNIA fees
Her folid grandeur rife: hence fhe commands
Th' exalted stores of every brighter clime,
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