The treasures of the Sun without his rage: Hence, fervent all, with culture, toil, and arts, Wide glows her land: her dreadful thunder hence Rides o'er the waves fublime, and now, even now, Impending hangs o'er Gallia's humbled coaft; 430 Hence rules the circling deep, and awes the world. 'Tis raging Noon; and, vertical, the Sun 435 440 Blast Fancy's blooms, and wither even the Soul. 450 ALL-CONQUERING Heat, oh intermit thy wrath! And on my throbbing temples potent thus Beam Beam not fo fierce! Inceffant ftill you flow, 445 460 Emblem inftructive of the virtuous Man, 465 Who keeps his temper'd mind ferene, and pure, And every paffion aptly harmoniz'd, Amid a jarring world with vice inflam'd. WELCOME, ye fhades! ye bowery thickets, hail! Ye lofty pines! ye venerable oaks ! 470 Ye ashes wild, refounding o'er the steep! Delicious is your shelter to the foul, As to the hunted hart the fallying fpring, Or stream full-flowing, that his swelling fides 475 Cool, thro' the nerves, your pleafing comfort glides; AROUND AROUND th' adjoining brook, that purls along 481 A various groupe the herds and flocks compofe, 485 Some ruminating lie; while others ftand 490 Returning ftill. Amid his fubjects fafe, LIGHT fly his flumbers, if perchance a flight That startling scatters from the shallow brook, 500 In fearch of lavish ftream. Toffing the foam, They scorn the keeper's voice, and fcour the plain, Thro' all the bright severity of noon; While, from their labouring breasts, a hollow moan Proceeding, runs low-bellowing round the hills. 505 OFT in this feafon too the horse, provok'd, While his big finews full of fpirits swell, Trembling Trembling with vigour, in the heat of blood, Springs the high fence; and, o'er the field effus'd, Darts on the gloomy flood, with stedfaft eye, 510 And heart eftrang'd to fear: his nervous chest, STILL let me pierce into the midnight depth Of yonder grove, of wildeft largest growth: That, forming high in air a woodland quire, Nods o'er the mount beneath. At every step, Solemn, and flow, the fhadows blacker fall, And all is awful liftening gloom around. 520 525 THESE are the haunts of Meditation, thefe The scenes where ancient bards th' infpiring breath, Extatic, felt; and, from this world retir'd, Convers'd with angels, and immortal forms, On gracious errands bent: to fave the fall Of virtue ftruggling on the brink of vice; In waking whispers, and repeated dreams, To hint pure thought, and warn the favour'd foul 530 To prompt the poet, who devoted gives His mufe to better themes; to footh the pangs Of dying worth, and from the patriot's breaft, (Backward to mingle in detefted war, But But foremost when engag'd) to turn the death; 535 And numberless such offices of love, Daily, and nightly, zealous to perform. 9нOOK fudden from the bosom of the sky, 540 Creep thro' my mortal frame; and thus, methinks, "Poor kindred Man! thy fellow-creatures, we 545 66 By noify folly and difcordant vice, 550. "Of Nature fing with us, and Nature's GOD. "Here frequent, at the vifionary hour, 555 "When musing midnight reigns or filent noon, Angelic harps are in full concert heard, "And voices chaunting from the wood-crown'd hill, "The deepening dale, or inmost filvan glade: 560 "A privilege bestow'd by us, alone, "On Contemplation, or the hallow'd ear "Of |