Puslapio vaizdai
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And with the moral beauty charm the heart.
Why need I name thy Boyle, whofe pious search
Amid the dark recesses of his works,
The great Creator sought ? and why thy Locke,
Who made the whole internal world his own?
Let Newton, pure intelligence, whom God
To mortals lent, to trace his boundless works
From laws sublimely

simple, speak thy fame
In all philosophy. For lofty sense,
Creative fancy, and inspection keen

Thro' the deep windings of the human heart,
Is not wild Shakespear thine and Nature's boast pr
Is not each great, each amiable Muse
Of classic ages in thy Milton met ?:
A genius universal as his theme;
Astonishing as Chaos, as the bloom
Of blowing Eden fair, as Heaven sublime.
Nor shall my verse that elder bard forget,
The gentle Spencer, Fancy's pleasing fon ;
Who like a copious river pour'd his song
O'er all the mazes of enchanted ground :
Nor thee, his antient Mafter, laughing sage,
Chaucer, whose native manners-painting verse,
Well-moraliz'd, shines thro' the Gothic cloud
Of time and language o'er thy genius thrown.

May my fong soften, as thy Daughters I,
Britannia, hail ! for beauty is their own,
The feeling heart, fimplicity of life,
And elegance, and taste; the faultless form, is brom
Shap'd by the hand of harinony; the cheek,
Where the live crimson, thro', the native white
Soft-fhooting, o'er the face diffuses bloom,
And every nameless grace; the parted lip,113
Like the red rose-bud moist with morning-dew,
Breathing delight; and, under flowing jet,
Or funny ringlets, or of circling brown,
The neck slight-faded, and the fwelling breast;
The look relistless, piercing to the soul,
And by the soul inform’d, when drest in love 40
She fits high-smiling in the conscious eye.

Island of bliss ! amid the subject seas, to That 'thunder round thy rocky coasts, fet up, At once the wonder, terror, and delights Of distant nations; whose remoteft fhores

Can soon be shaken by thy naval arm ;
Not to be shook thyself, but all assaults
Baffling, as thy hoar cliffs the loud sea-wave.

O Thou ! by whofe almighty Nod the scale
Of empire rises, or alternate falls,
Send forth the faving virtues round the land,
In bright patrol, white Peace, and focial Love;
The tender-looking Charity, intent
On gentle deeds, and shedding tears thro' smiles;
Undaunted Truth, and Dignity of mind;
Courage compos'd, and keen; found Temperance,
Healthful in heart and look; clear Chastity,
With blushes reddening as fhe moves along,
Disorder'd at the deep regard the draws ;
Rough Industry; Activity untirid,
With copious life informi'd, and all awake :
While in the radiant front, superior inincs
That first paternal virtue, Public Zeal;
Who throws o'er all an equal wide survey,
And, ever musing on the common weal,
Still labours glorious with some great design.

(T HOMSON.) THESE are thy bleflings, Industry! rough power!

Whom labour still attends, and sweat, and pain ; Yet the kind source of every gentle art, And all the foft civility of life: Raiser of human kind! by Nature caft, Naked, and, helpless, out amid the woods And wilds, to rude inclement elements; With various seeds of art deep in the mind Implanted, and profusely pour'd around Materials infinite ; but idle all. Still unexerted, in th' unconscious breast, Slept the lethargic powers ; corruption still, Voracious, swallow'd what the liberal hand Of bounty featter'd o'er the favage year : And still the sad barbarian, roving, mix'd With beasts of prey; or for his acorn meal Fought the fierce tusky boar; a shivering wretch ! Aghaft, and comfortless, when the bleak north, With Winter charg’d, let the mix'd tempelt fly,

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Hail, rain, and snow, the bitter-breathing frost:
Then to the shelter of the hut he fed ;
And the wild season, fordid, pin'd away.
For home he had not ; home is the resort
Of love, of joy, of peace and plenty, where,
Supporting and supported, polish'd friends,
And dear relations iningle into bliss.
But this the rugged savage never felt,
Even desolate in crouds; and thus his days
Roll'd heavy, dark, and unenjoy'd along :
A waste of time! till Industry approach'd,
And rous'd him from this miserable sloth:
His faculties unfolded ; pointed out,
Where lavish Nature the directing hand
Of Art demanded ; shew'd hiin how to raise
His feeble force by the mechanic powers,
To dig the mineral from the vaulted earth,
On what to turn the piercing rage of fire,
On what the torrent, and the gather'd blast;
Gave the tall antient forest to his ax;
Taught him to chip the wood, and hew the stone,

Till by degrees the finish'd fabric rose ;
Tore from his limbs the blood-polluted fur,
And wrapt them in the woolly vestment warm,
Or bright in gloffy folk, and Aowing lawn;
With wholesome viands fill?d his table, pour'd
The generous glass around, inspir'd to wake
The life-refining foul of decent wit :
Nor stopp'd at barren, bare necessity;
But still advancing bolder, led him on,
To pomp, to pleasure, elegance and grace ;
And breathing high ambition thro' his soul,
Set science, wisdom, glory, in his view,
And bade him be the Lord of all below.

Then gathering Men their natural powers combin'd,
And form'd a Public; to the general good
Submitting, aiming, and conducting all.
For this the Patriot-Council met, the full,
The free, and fairly represented Whole;
For this they plann'd the holy guardian laws,
Distinguish'd orders, animated arts,
And with joint force Oppression chaining, fet
Imperial Justice at the helm ; yet still
To tbem accountable : nor flavish dream'd



That toiling millions must refign their weal,
And all the honey of their search, to such
As for themselves alone themselves had rais'd..

Hence every form of cultivated life
In order set, protected, and inspir’d,
Into perfection wrought. Uniting all,
Society grew numerous, high, polite,
And happy. Nurse of art! the city rear'd
In beauteous pride her tower-encircled head;
And, stretching street on street, by thousands drew,
From twining woody haunts, or the tough yew
To bows strong straining, her aspiring fons.

Then Commerce brought into the public walk
The busy merchant; the big warehouse built;
Rais'd the strong crane ; choak'd up the loaded streetr
With foreign plenty; and thy stream, O Thames,
Large, gentle, deep, majestic, king of floods !
Chose for his grand resort. On either hand,
Like a long wintry forest, groves of masts
Shot up their spires; the bellying fheet between
Pofless'd the breezy void; the footy hulk
Steer'd sluggish on the splendid barge along
Row'd, regular, to harmony; around,
The boat, light-skimming, stretch'd its oary wings,
While deep the various voice of fervent toil
From bank to bank increas'd; whence ribb’d with oaks,
To bear the British Thunder, black, and bold,
The roaring vessel rush'd into the main.

Then too the pillar'd dome, magnific, heav'd
Its ample roof; and luxury within
Pour'd out her glittering stores : the canvas smoothy,
With glowing life protuberant, to the view
Embodied rose; the statue feem'd to breathe,
And soften into flesh, beneath the touch
Of forming art, imagination-fufh'd.

All is the gift of Industry; whate'er
Exalts, embellishes, and renders life
Delightful. Pensive Winter chear'd by him
Sits at the social fire, and happy hears
Th' excluded fempeft idly rave along;
His harden'd fingers deck the gaudy spring;
Without him Summer were an arid waste;
Nor to th' autumnal months could thus transmit
Those full, maturë, inimeasurable stores,
hat, waving round, recal my wandering song.



OON as the morning trembles o'er the sky,

And, unperceiv'd, unfolds the fpreading day;
Before the ripened field the reapers stand,
In fair array; each by the lass he loves,
To bear the rougher part, and mitigate,
By nameless gentle offices, her toil.
At once they stoop and swell the lufty shcaves;
While thro' their chearful band the rural talk,
The rural scandal and the rural jest,
Fly harmless, to deceive the tedious time,
And steal unfelt the sultry hours away.
Behind the master walks, binds up the shocks;
And, conscious, glancing oft on every side
His fated eye, feels his heart heave with joy:
The gleaners spread around, and here and there,
Spike after spike, their sparing harvest pick.
Be not too narrow, husbandmen! but throw
From the full fheaf, with charitable stealth,
The liberal handful. Think, Oh grateful think!
How good the God of HARVEST is to you,
Who pours abundance o'er your flowing fields;
While these unhappy partners of your kind:
Wide-hover round you, like the fowls of heaven,
And ask their humble dole. The various turns
Of fortune ponder; that your fons may want
What now, with hard reluctance, faint, you give.

The lovely young LAVINIA once had friends
And fortune sinil'd, deceitful, on her birth,
For in her helpless years depriy'd of all,
Of every stay, fave Innocence and Heaven,
She with her widow?d mother, feeble, oldi's
And poor; liv’d in a cottage, far retir’d
Among the windings of a woody vale ;
By solitude and deep surrounding shades,
But more by bashful modefty, conceal'd.
Together thus they shund the cruel scorn
Which virtue, funk to poverty, would meet
From giddy passion and low-minded pride:
Almost on Nature's common bounty fed ;
Like the gay birds that sung them to repose,
Content, and careless of to-morrow's fare.


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