Their largest choice: like spring's unfolded blooms Exhaling sweetness, that the skilful bee May taste at will, from their selected spoils To work her dulcet food. For not the expanse Of living lakes in summer's noontide calm, Reflects the bordering shade, and sun-bright heavens, With fairer semblance; not the sculptur'd gold More faithful keeps the graver's lively trace, Than he, whose birth the sister powers of Art Propitious view'd, and from his genial star Shed influence to the seeds of fancy kind; Than his attemper'd bosom must preserve The seal of Nature. There alone unchang'd, Her form remains. The balmy walks of May There breathe perennial sweets: the trembling chord Resounds for ever in the abstracted ear, Melodious: and the virgin's radiant eye, Superior to disease, to grief, and time, Shines with un'bating lustre. Thus at length Endow'd with all that Nature can bestow, The child of Fancy oft in silence bends O'er these mixt treasures of his pregnant breast, With conscious pride. From them he oft resolves To frame he knows not what excelling things; And win he knows not what sublime reward Of praise and wonder. By degrees, the mind Feels her young nerves dilate: the plastic powers Labour for action: blind emotions heave His bosom, and with loveliest frenzy caught, From Earth to Heaven he rolls his daring eye, From Heaven to Earth. Anon ten thousand shapes, Like spectres trooping to the wizard's call,
Flit swift before him. From the womb af Earth, From Ocean's bed they come; the eternal Heavens Disclose their splendours, and the dark Abyss Pours out her births unknown.
He marks the rising phantoms.
With fixed gaze Now compares them, now di
Their different forms; now blends
And feature after feature we refer To that sublime exemplar whence it stole Those animating charms. Thus beauty's palm Betwixt them wavering hangs: applauding love Doubts where to choose; and mortal man aspires To tempt creative praise. As when a cloud Of gathering hail, with limpid crusts of ice Enclos'd and obvious to the beaming Sun, Collects his large effulgence; straight the Heavens With equal flames present on either hand The radiant visage: Persia stands at gaze, Appall'd; and on the brink of Ganges doubts The snowy-vested seer, in Mithra's name, To which the fragrance of the south shall burn, To which his warbled orisons ascend.
Such various bliss the well-tun'd heart enjoys, Favour'd of Heaven! while, plung'd in sordid cares, The unfeeling vulgar mocks the boon divine: And harsh Austerity, from whose rebuke Young Love and smiling Wonder shrink away Abash'd, and chill of heart, with sager frowns Condemns the fair enchantment. On my strain, Perhaps even now, some cold fastidious judge Casts a disdainful eye; and calls my toil, And calls the love and beauty which I sing, The dream of folly. Thou, grave censor! say, Is Beauty then a dream, because the glooms Of dulness hang too heavy on thy sense, To let her shine upon thee? So the man Whose eye ne'er open'd on the light of Heaven, Might smile with scorn while raptur'd vision tells Of the gay-colour'd radiance flushing bright O'er all creation. From the wise be far Such gross unhallow'd pride; nor needs my song Descend so low; but rather now unfold, If human thought could reach, or words unfold, By what mysterious fabric of the mind, The deep-felt joys and harmony of sound Result from airy motion; and from shape The lovely phantoms of sublime and fair. By what fine ties hath God connected things When present in the mind, which in themselves Have no connection? Sure the rising Sun O'er the cerulean convex of the sea, With equal brightness and with equal warmth Might roll his fiery orb; nor yet the soul
With endless choice perplex'd. At length his plan Thus feel her frame expanded, and her powers
Begins to open. Lucid order dawns;
And as from Chaos old the jarring seeds Of Nature at the voice divine repair'd Each to its place, till rosy Earth unveil'd Her fragrant bosom, and the joyful Sun Sprung up the blue serene; by swift degrees Thus disentangled, his entire design Emerges. Colours mingle, features join; And lines converge: the fainter parts retire; The fairer eminent in light advance; And every image on its neighbour smiles. Awhile he stands, and with a father's joy Contemplates. Then with Promethean art, Into its proper vehicle he breathes
The fair conception; which, embodied thus, And permanent, becomes to eyes or ears An object ascertain'd: while thus inform'd, The various organs of his mimic skill, The consonance of sounds, the featur'd rock, The shadowy picture and impassion'd verse, Beyond their proper powers attract the soul By that expressive semblance, while in sight Of Nature's great original we scan
lively child of Art; while line by line,
Exulting in the splendour she beholds; Like a young conqueror moving through the poup Of some triumphal day. When join'd at eve, Soft murmuring streams and gales of gentlest breath Melodious Philomela's wakeful strain Attemper, could not man's discerning ear Through all its tones the sympathy pursue; Nor yet this breath divine of nameless joy Steal through his veins, and fan the awaken'd heart, Mild as the breeze, yet rapturous as the song.
But were not Nature still endow'd at large With all which life requires, though unadorn'd With such enchantment: wherefore then her form So exquisitely fair? her breath perfum'd With such ethereal sweetness? whence her voice Inform'd at will to raise or to depress The impassion'd soul? and whence the robes of light Which thus invest her with more lovely pomp Than fancy can describe? Whence but from thee, O source divine of ever-flowing love, And thy unmeasur'd goodness? Not content With every food of life to nourish man, By kind illusions of the wondering sense Thou mak'st all nature beauty to his eye,
Or music to his ear: well pleas'd he scans The goodly prospect; and with inward smiles Treads the gay verdure of the painted plain; Beholds the azure canopy of Heaven, And living lamps that over-arch his head With more than regal splendour; bends his ears To the full choir of water, air, and earth; Nor heeds the pleasing errour of his thought, Nor doubts the painted green or azure arch, Nor questions more the music's mingling sounds Than space, or motion, or eternal time; So sweet he feels their influence to attract The fixed soul; to brighten the dull glooms Of care, and make the destin'd road of life Delightful to his feet. So fables tell,
The adventurous hero, bound on hard exploits, Beholds with glad surprise, by secret spells Of some kind sage, the patron of his toils, A visionary paradise disclos'd
Amid the dubious wild: with streams, and shades, And airy songs, the enchanted landscape smiles, Cheers his long labours, and renews his frame.
What then is taste, but these internal powers ⚫ Active, and strong, and feelingly alive
To each fine impulse? a discerning sense Of decent and sublime, with quick disgust From things deform'd, or disarrang'd, or gross In species? This, nor gems, nor stores of gold, Nor purple state, nor culture can bestow; But God alone when first his active hand Imprints the secret bias of the soul. He, mighty parent! wise and just in all, Free as the vital breeze or light of Heaven, Reveals the charms of Nature. Ask the swain Who journeys homeward from a summer day's Long labour, why, forgetful of his toils And due repose, he loiters to behold The sunshine gleaming as through amber clouds, O'er all the western sky; full soon, I ween, His rude expression and untutor❜d airs, Beyond the power of language, will unfold The form of beauty smiling at his heart, [Heaven How lovely! how commanding! But though In every breast hath sown these early seeds Of love and admiration, yet in vain, Without fair Culture's kind parental aid, Without enlivening suns, and genial showers, And shelter from the blast, in vain we hope The tender plant should rear its blooming head, Or yield the harvest promis'd in its spring. Nor yet will every soil with equal stores Repay the tiller's labour; or attend His will, obsequious, whether to produce The olive or the laurel. Different minds Incline to different objects: one pursues The vast alone, the wonderful, the wild; Another sighs for harmony, and grace, And gentlest beauty. Hence when lightning fires The arch of Heaven, and thunders rock the ground, When furious whirlwinds rend the howling air, And Ocean, groaning from its lowest bed, Heaves his tempestuous billows to the sky; Amid the mighty uproar, while below The nations tremble, Shakspeare looks abroad From some high cliff, superior, and enjoys The elemental war. But Waller longs, All on the margin of some flowery stream, To spread his careless limbs amid the cool Of plantane shades, and to the listening deer The tale of slighted vows and love's disdain Resound soft-warbling all the live-long day:
Consenting Zephyr sighs; the weeping rill Joins in his plaint, melodious; mute the groves; And hill and dale with all their echoes mourn. Such and so various are the tastes of men.
Oh! blest of Heaven, whom not the languid Of Luxury, the syren! not the bribes Of sordid Wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils Of pageant Honour, can seduce to leave
Those ever-blooming sweets, which from the store Of Nature fair Imagination culls
To charm the enliven'd soul! What though not all Of mortal offspring can attain the heights Of envied life; though only few possess Patrician treasures or imperial state; Yet Nature's care, to all her children just, With richer treasures and an ampler state, Endows at large whatever happy man Will deign to use them. His the city's pomp, The rural honours his. Whate'er adorns The princely dome, the column and the arch, The breathing marbles and the sculptur'd gold, Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim, His tuneful breast enjoys. For him, the spring Distils her dews, and from the silken gem Its lucid leaves unfolds: for him, the hand Of Autumn tinges every fertile branch With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn. Each passing hour sheds tribute from her wings; And still new beauties meet his lonely walk, And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze Flies o'er the meadow, not a cloud imbibes The setting Sun's effulgence, not a strain From all the tenants of the warbling shade Ascends, but whence his bosom can partake Fresh pleasure, unreprov'd. Nor thence partakes Fresh pleasure only: for the attentive mind, By this harmonious action on her powers, Becomes herself harmonious: wont so oft In outward things to meditate the charm Of sacred order, soon she seeks at home To find a kindred order, to exert Within herself this elegance of love, This fair inspir'd delight: her temper'd powers Refine at length, and every passion wears A chaster, milder, more attractive mien. But if to ampler prospects, if to gaze On Nature's form, where, negligent of all These lesser graces, she assumes the port Of that eternal majesty that weigh'd The world's foundations, if to these the mind Exalts her daring eye; then mightier far Will be the change, and nobler. Would the forms Of servile custom cramp her generous powers? Would sordid policies, the barbarous growth Of ignorance and rapine, bow her down To tame pursuits, to indolence and fear? Lo! she appeals to Nature, to the winds And rolling waves, the Sun's unwearied course, The elements and seasons: all declare For what the eternal Maker has ordain'd The powers of man: we feel within ourselves His energy divine: he tells the heart, He meant, he made us to behold and love What he beholds and loves, the general orb Of life and being; to be great like him, Beneficent and active. Thus the men
Whom Nature's works can charm, with God himself Hold converse; grow familiar, day by day, With his conceptions, act upon his plan; And form to his, the relish of their souls. Tt3
Nor shall the blandishment of Tuscan strings Warbling at will in Pleasure's myrtle bower; Nor shall the servile notes to Celtic kings
By flattering minstrels paid in evil hour, Move thee to spurn the heavenly Muse's reign. A different strain,
And other themes, From her prophetic shades and hallow'd streams, (Thou well canst witness) meet the purged ear: Such, as when Greece to her immortal shell Rejoicing listen'd, godlike sounds to hear; To hear the sweet instructress tell (While men and heroes throng'd around) How life its noblest use may find, How well for freedom be resign'd;
And how, by Glory, Virtue shall be crown'd.
Such was the Chian father's strain
To many a kind domestic train, Whose pious hearth and genial bowl
Had cheer'd the reverend pilgrim's soul: When, every hospitable rite
With equal bounty to requite,
He struck his magic strings;
And pour'd spontaneous numbers forth, And seiz'd their ears with tales of ancient worth, And fill'd their musing hearts with vast heroic things.
Now oft, where happy spirits dwell, Where yet he tunes his charming shell, Oft near him, with applauding hands, The Genius of his country stands.
To watch the state's uncertain frame, And baffle Faction's partial aim: But chiefly, with determin'd zeal, To quell that servile band, who kneel To Freedom's banish'd foes;
That monster, which is daily found Expert and bold thy country's peace to wound; Yet dreads to handle arms, nor manly counsel knows.
'Tis highest Heaven's command,
That guilty aims should sordid paths pursue;
That what ensnares the heart should maim the hand,
And Virtue's worthless foes be false to Glory too. But look on Freedom. See, through every age, What labours, perils, griefs, hath she disdain'd! What arms, what regal pride, what priestly rage, Have her dread offspring conquer'd or sustain'd! For Albion well have conquer'd. Let the strains Of happy swains, Which now resound Where Scarsdale's cliffs the swelling pastures Bear witness. There, oft let the farmer hail The sacred orchard which imbowers his gate, And show to strangers passing down the vale, Where Ca'ndish, Booth, and Osborne sate; When, bursting from their country's chain, Even in the midst of deadly harms, Of papal snares and lawless arms, They plann'd for Freedom this her noblest reign.
This reign, these laws, this public care, Which Nassau gave us all to share, Had ne'er adorn'd the English name, Could Fear have silenc'd Freedom's claim. But Fear in vain attempts to bind Those lofty efforts of the mind
Which social Good inspires;
Where men, for this, assault a throne, Each adds the common welfare to his own; And each unconquer'd heart the strength of all ac- quires.
Say, was it thus, when late we view'd Our fields in civil blood imbrued?
When Fortune crown'd the barbarous host, And half the astonish'd isle was lost?
Did one of all that vaunting train, Who dare affront a peaceful reign, Durst one in arms appear?
Durst one in counsels pledge his life? Stake his luxurious fortunes in the strife?
Or lend his boasted name his vagrant friends to cheer?
But, sought from cowards and the lying mouth,
Praise is reproach. Eternal God alone For mortals fixeth that sublime award. He, from the faithful records of his throne, Bids the historian and the bard Dispose of honour and of scorn; Discern the patriot from the slave ;
And write the good, the wise, the brave For lessons to the multitude unborn.
The nymphs, who preside over springs and rivulets, are addressed at day-break, in honour of their several functions, and of the relations which they bear to the natural and to the moral worid. Their origin is deduced from the first allegorical deities, or powers of Nature; according to the doctrine of the old mythological poets, concerning the generation of the gods and the rise of things. are then successively considered, as giving motion They to the air and exciting summer-breezes; as nou- | rishing and beautifying the vegetable creation; as contributing to the fullness of navigable rivers, and consequently to the maintenance of commerce; and by that means, to the maritime part of military power. Next is represented their favourable influence upon health, when assisted by rural exercise: which introduces their connection with the art of physic, and the happy effects of mineral medicinal springs. Lastly, they are celebrated for the friendship which the Muses bear them, and for the true inspiration which temperance only can receive: in opposition to the enthusiasm of the more licentious poets,
O'ER yonder eastern hill the twilight pale Walks forth from darkness; and the god of day, With bright Astræa seated by his side, Waits yet to leave the ocean.
Ye Nymphs, ye blue-ey'd progeny of Thames, Who now the mazes of this rugged heath Trace with your fleeting steps; who all night long Repeat, amid the cool and tranquil air, Your lonely murmurs, tarry: and receive My offer'd lay. To pay you homage due, I leave the gates of Sleep; nor shall my lyre Too far into the splendid hours of morn Engage your audience: my observant hand Shall close the strain ere any sultry beam Approach you. To your subterranean haunts Ye then may timely steal; to pace with care The humid sands; to loosen from the soil The bubbling sources; to direct the rills To meet in wider channels; or beneath Some grotto's dripping arch, at height of noon To slumber, shelter'd from the burning heaven. Where shall my song begin, ye Nymphs? or end? Wide is your praise and copious First of the lonely powers, ere Time arose, First of things, Were Love and Chaos. Love the sire of Fate; Elder than Chaos. Born of Fate was Time, Who many sons and many comely births Devour'd, relentless father: till the child Of Rhea drove him from the upper sky, And quell'd his deadly might.
The kindred powers, Tethys, and reverend Ops, And spotless Vesta; while supreme of sway Remain'd the cloud-compeller. From the couch Of Tethys sprang the sedgy-crowned race, Who from a thousand urns, o'er every clime, Send tribute to their parent: and from them Are ye, O Naiads: Arethusa fair, And tuneful Aganippe; that sweet name, Bandusia; that soft family which dwelt With Syrian Daphne; and the honour'd tribes Belov'd of Pæon. Listen to my strain, Daughters of Tethys: listen to your praise.
You, Nymphs, the winged offspring, which of old Aurora to divine Astræus bore, Owns; and your aid beseecheth. When the might Unbends their languid pinions, aid from you Of Hyperion, from his noontide throne, They ask: Favonius and the mild South-west From you relief implore. Your sallying streams Fresh vigour to their weary wings impart. Again they fly, disporting; from the mead Half ripen'd and the tender blades of corn, To sweep the noxious mildew; or dispel Breathes on her fainting sons. Contagious streams, which oft the parched Earth Along the river and the paved brook, From noon to eve, Ascend the cheerful breezes: hail'd of bards Who, fast by learned Cam, the Æolian lyre Solicit; nor unwelcome to the youth Who on the heights of Tibur, all inclin'd O'er rushing Anio, with a pious hand The reverend scene delineates, broken fanes, Or tombs, or pillar'd aqueducts, the pomp Of ancient Time; and haply, while he scans The ruins, with a silent tear revolves The fame and fortune of imperious Rome.
You too, O Nymphs, and your unenvious aid The rural powers confess; and still prepare For you their choicest treasures. Pan commands, Oft as the Delian king with Sirius holds The central heavens, the father of the grove Commands his Dryads over your abodes To spread their deepest umbrage. Well the god Remembereth how indulgent ye supplied Your genial dews to nurse them in their prime.
Pursues your steps, delighted; and the path Pales, the pasture's queen, where'er ye stray, With living verdure clothes. Around your haunts The laughing Chloris, with profusest hand, Throws wide her blooms, her odours. Still with you Pomona seeks to dwell: and o'er the lawns, And o'er the vale of Richmond, where with Thames Ye love to wander, Amalthea pours Well-pleas'd the wealth of that Ammonian horn, Her dower; unmindful of the fragrant isles Nysæan or Atlantic. Nor canst thou, (Albeit oft, ungrateful, thou dost mock The beverage of the sober Naiad's urn, O Bromius, O Lenæan) nor canst thou Disown the powers whose bounty, ill repaid, Yet, blameless Nymphs, from my delighted lyre, With nectar feeds thy tendrils. Yet from me, Accept the rites your bounty well may claim, Nor heed the scoffings of the Edonian band. For better praise awaits you. Thames, your sire, As down the verdant slope your duteous rills Descend, the tribute stately Thames receives, Delighted; and your piety applauds ; Then social reign'd For faithful are his daughters; and with words And bids his copious tide roll on secure,
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