<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416334" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Four Seasons : Spring</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come, gentle Spring! ethereal Mildness! come, <br>And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud, <br>While music wakes around, veil'd in a shower <br>Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend. <br>O Hertford, fitted or to shine in courts <br>With unaffected grace, or walk the plain <br>With innocence and meditation join'd <br>In soft assemblage, listen to my song, <br>Which thy own Season paints; when Nature all <br>Is blooming and benevolent, like thee. <br>And see where surly Winter passes off, <br>Far to the north, and calls his ruffian blasts: <br>His blasts obey, and quit the howling hill, <br>The shatter'd forest, and the ravaged vale; <br>While softer gales succeed, at whose kind touch, <br>Dissolving snows in livid torrents lost, <br>The mountains lift their green heads to the sky. <br>As yet the trembling year is unconfirm'd, <br>And Winter oft at eve resumes the breeze, <br>Chills the pale morn, and bids his driving sleets <br>Deform the day delightless: so that scarce <br>The bittern knows his time, with bill ingulf'd, <br>To shake the sounding marsh; or from the shore <br>The plovers when to scatter o'er the heath, <br>And sing their wild notes to the listening waste <br>At last from Aries rolls the bounteous sun, <br>And the bright Bull receives him. Then no more <br>The expansive atmosphere is cramp'd with cold <br>But, full of life and vivifying soul, <br>Lifts the light clouds sublime, and spreads then thin, <br>Fleecy, and white, o'er all-surrounding heaven. <br>Forth fly the tepid airs: and unconfined, <br>Unbinding earth, the moving softness strays. <br>Joyous, the impatient husbandman perceives <br>Relenting Nature, and his lusty steers <br>Drives from their stalls, to where the well used plough <br>Lies in the furrow, loosen'd from the frost. <br>There, unrefusing, to the harness'd yoke <br>They lend their shoulder, and begin their toil, <br>Cheer'd by the simple song and soaring lark. <br>Meanwhile incumbent o'er the shining share <br>The master leans, removes the obstructing clay, <br>Winds the whole work, and sidelong lays the glebe <br>While through the neighbouring fields the sowe stalks, <br>With measured step, and liberal throws the grain <br>Into the faithful bosom of the ground; <br>The harrow follows harsh, and shuts the scene. <br>Be gracious, Heaven! for now laborious Man <br>Has done his part. Ye fostering breezes, blow! <br>Ye softening dews, ye tender showers, descend! <br>And temper all, thou world-reviving sun, <br>Into the perfect year! Nor ye who live <br>In luxury and ease, in pomp and pride, <br>Think these lost themes unworthy of your ear: <br>Such themes as these the rural Maro sung <br>To wide-imperial Rome, in the full height <br>Of elegance and taste, by Greece refined. <br>In ancient times the sacred plough employ'd <br>The kings and awful fathers of mankind: <br>And some, with whom compared your insect-tribes <br>Are but the beings of a summer's day, <br>Have held the scale of empire, ruled the storm <br>Of mighty war; then, with unwearied hand, <br>Disdaining little delicacies, seized <br>The plough, and greatly independent lived. <br>Ye generous Britons, venerate the plough! <br>And o'er your hills, and long withdrawing vales, <br>Let Autumn spread his treasures to the sun, <br>Luxuriant and unbounded: as the sea, <br>Far through his azure turbulent domain, <br>Your empire owns, and from a thousand shores <br>Wafts all the pomp of life into your ports; <br>So with superior boon may your rich soil, <br>Exuberant, Nature's better blessings pour <br>O'er every land, the naked nations clothe, <br>And be the exhaustless granary of a world! <br>Nor only through the lenient air this change, <br>Delicious, breathes; the penetrative sun, <br>His force deep-darting to the dark retreat <br>Of vegetation, sets the steaming Power <br>At large, to wander o'er the verdant earth, <br>In various hues; but chiefly thee, gay green! <br>Thou smiling Nature's universal robe! <br>United light and shade! where the sight dwells <br>With growing strength, and ever-new delight. <br>From the moist meadow to the wither'd hill, <br>Led by the breeze, the vivid verdure runs, <br>And swells, and deepens, to the cherish'd eye. <br>The hawthorn whitens; and the juicy groves <br>Put forth their buds, unfolding by degrees, <br>Till the whole leafy forest stands display'd, <br>In full luxuriance to the sighing gales; <br>Where the deer rustle through the twining brake, <br>And the birds sing conceal'd. At once array'd <br>In all the colours of the flushing year, <br>By Nature's swift and secret working hand, <br>The garden glows, and fills the liberal air <br>With lavish fragrance; while the promised fruit <br>Lies yet a little embryo, unperceived, <br>Within its crimson folds. Now from the town <br>Buried in smoke, and sleep, and noisome damps, <br>Oft let me wander o'er the dewy fields, <br>Where freshness breathes, and dash the trembling drops <br>From the bent bush, as through the verdant maze <br>Of sweetbriar hedges I pursue my walk; <br>Or taste the smell of dairy; or ascend <br>Some eminence, Augusta, in thy plains, <br>And see the country, far diffused around, <br>One boundless blush, one white-empurpled shower <br>Of mingled blossoms; where the raptured eye <br>Hurries from joy to joy, and, hid beneath <br>The fair profusion, yellow Autumn spies. <br>If, brush'd from Russian wilds, a cutting gale <br>Rise not, and scatter from his humid wings <br>The clammy mildew; or, dry-blowing, breathe <br>Untimely frost; before whose baleful blast <br>The full-blown Spring through all her foliage shrinks, <br>Joyless and dead, a wide-dejected waste. <br>For oft, engender'd by the hazy north, <br>Myriads on myriads, insect armies warp <br>Keen in the poison'd breeze; and wasteful eat, <br>Through buds and bark, into the blacken'd core, <br>Their eager way. A feeble race! yet oft <br>The sacred sons of vengeance; on whose course <br>Corrosive Famine waits, and kills the year. <br>To check this plague, the skilful farmer chaff <br>And blazing straw before his orchard burns; <br>Till, all involved in smoke, the latent foe <br>From every cranny suffocated falls: <br>Or scatters o'er the blooms the pungent dust <br>Of pepper, fatal to the frosty tribe: <br>Or, when the envenom'd leaf begins to curl, <br>With sprinkled water drowns them in their nest; <br>Nor, while they pick them up with busy bill, <br>The little trooping birds unwisely scares. <br>Be patient, swains; these cruel seeming winds <br>Blow not in vain. Far hence they keep repress'd <br>Those deepening clouds on clouds, surcharged with rain, <br>That o'er the vast Atlantic hither borne, <br>In endless train, would quench the summer-blaze, <br>And, cheerless, drown the crude unripen'd year. <br>The north-east spends his rage; he now shut up <br>Within his iron cave, the effusive south <br>Warms the wide air, and o'er the void of Heaven <br>Breathes the big clouds with vernal showers distent. <br>At first a dusky wreath they seem to rise, <br>Scarce staining ether; but by swift degrees, <br>In heaps on heaps, the doubling vapour sails <br>Along the loaded sky, and mingling deep <br>Sits on the horizon round a settled gloom: <br>Not such as wintry-storms on mortals shed, <br>Oppressing life; but lovely, gentle, kind, <br>And full of every hope and every joy, <br>The wish of Nature. Gradual sinks the breeze <br>Into a perfect calm; that not a breath <br>Is heard to quiver through the closing woods, <br>Or rustling turn the many-twinkling leaves <br>Of aspin tall. The' uncurling floods, diffused <br>In glassy breadth, seem through delusive lapse <br>Forgetful of their course. 'Tis silence all <br>And pleasing expectation. Herds and flocks <br>Drop the dry sprig, and mute-imploring eye <br>The falling verdure. Hush'd in short suspense, <br>The plumy people streak their wings with oil, <br>To throw the lucid moisture trickling off: <br>And wait the approaching sign to strike, at once, <br>Into the general choir. E'en mountains, vales, <br>And forests seem, impatient, to demand <br>The promised sweetness. Man superior walks <br>Amid the glad creation, musing praise, <br>And looking lively gratitude. At last, <br>The clouds consign their treasures to the fields; <br>And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool <br>Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow, <br>In large effusion, o'er the freshened world. <br>The stealing shower is scarce to patter heard, <br>By such as wander through the forest walks, <br>Beneath the umbrageous multitude of leaves. <br>But who can hold the shade, while Heaven descends <br>In universal bounty, shedding herbs, <br>And fruits, and flowers, on Nature's ample lap? <br>Swift Fancy fired anticipates their growth; <br>And, while the milky nutriment distils, <br>Beholds the kindling country colour round. <br>Thus all day long the full-distended clouds <br>Indulge their genial stores, and well-shower'd earth <br>Is deep enrich'd with vegetable life; <br>Till, in the western sky, the downward sun <br>Looks out, effulgent, from amid the flush <br>Of broken clouds, gay-shifting to his beam. <br>The rapid radiance instantaneous strikes <br>The illumined mountain, through the forest streams, <br>Shakes on the floods, and in a yellow mist, <br>Far smoking o'er the interminable plain, <br>In twinkling myriads lights the dewy gems. <br>Moist, bright, and green, the landscape laughs around. <br>Full swell the woods; their every music wakes, <br>Mix'd in wild concert with the warbling brooks <br>Increased, the distant bleatings of the hills, <br>And hollow lows responsive from the vales, <br>Whence blending all the sweeten'd zephyr springs. <br>Meantime, refracted from yon eastern cloud, <br>Bestriding earth, the grand ethereal bow <br>Shoots up immense; and every hue unfolds, <br>In fair proportion running from the red <br>To where the violet fades into the sky. <br>Here, awful Newton, the dissolving clouds <br>Form, fronting on the sun, thy showery prism; <br>And to the sage instructed eye unfold <br>The various twine of light, by thee disclosed <br>From the white mingling maze. Not so the boy; <br>He wondering views the bright enchantment bend, <br>Delightful o'er the radiant fields, and runs <br>To catch the falling glory; but amazed <br>Beholds the amusive arch before him fly, <br>Then vanish quite away. Still night succeeds, <br>A softened shade, and saturated earth <br>Awaits the morning-beam, to give to light, <br>Raised through ten thousand different plastic tubes, <br>The balmy treasures of the former day. <br>Then spring the living herbs, profusely wild, <br>O'er all the deep-green earth, beyond the power <br>Of botanist to number up their tribes: <br>Whether he steals along the lonely dale, <br>In silent search; or through the forest, rank <br>With what the dull incurious weeds account, <br>Bursts his blind way; or climbs the mountain rock, <br>Fired by the nodding verdure of its brow. <br>With such a liberal hand has Nature flung <br>Their seeds abroad, blown them about in winds, <br>Innumerous mix'd them with the nursing mould, <br>The moistening current, and prolific rain. <br>But who their virtues can declare? who pierce, <br>With vision pure, into these secret stores <br>Of health, and life, and joy? the food of Man, <br>While yet he lived in innocence, and told <br>A length of golden years; unflesh'd in blood, <br>A stranger to the savage arts of life, <br>Death, rapine, carnage, surfeit, and disease; <br>The lord, and not the tyrant, of the world. <br>The first fresh dawn then waked the gladden'd race <br>Of uncorrupted Man, nor blush'd to see <br>The sluggard sleep beneath its sacred beam; <br>For their light slumbers gently fumed away; <br>And up they rose as vigorous as the sun, <br>Or to the culture of the willing glebe, <br>Or to the cheerful tendance of the flock. <br>Meantime the song went round; and dance and sport, <br>Wisdom and friendly talk, successive, stole <br>Their hours away: while in the rosy vale <br>Love breath'd his infant sighs, from anguish free, <br>And full replete with bliss; save the sweet pain, <br>That inly thrilling, but exalts it more. <br>Not yet injurious act, nor surly deed, <br>Was known among those happy sons of Heaven; <br>For reason and benevolence were law. <br>Harmonious Nature too look'd smiling on. <br>Clear shone the skies, cool'd with eternal gales, <br>And balmy spirit all. The youthful sun <br>Shot his best rays, and still the gracious clouds <br>Dropp'd fatness down; as o'er the swelling mead <br>The herds and flocks, commixing, play'd secure. <br>This when, emergent from the gloomy wood, <br>The glaring lion saw, his horrid heart <br>Was meeken'd, and he join'd his sullen joy; <br>For music held the whole in perfect peace: <br>Soft sigh'd the flute; the tender voice was heard, <br>Warbling the varied heart; the woodlands round <br>Applied their quire; and winds and waters flow'd <br>In consonance. Such were those prime of days. <br>But now those white unblemish'd manners, whence <br>The fabling poets took their golden age, <br>Are found no more amid these iron times. <br>These dregs of life! now the distemper'd mind <br>Has lost that concord of harmonious powers, <br>Which forms the soul of happiness; and all <br>Is off the poise within: the passions all <br>Have burst their bounds; and reason half extinct, <br>Or impotent, or else approving, sees <br>The foul disorder. Senseless, and deform'd, <br>Convulsive anger storms at large; or pale, <br>And silent, settles into fell revenge. <br>Base envy withers at another's joy, <br>And hates that excellence it cannot reach. <br>Desponding fear, of feeble fancies full, <br>Weak and unmanly, loosens every power. <br>E'en love itself is bitterness of soul, <br>A pensive anguish pining at the heart; <br>Or, sunk to sordid interest, feels no more <br>That noble wish, that never cloy'd desire, <br>Which, selfish joy disdaining, seeks alone <br>To bless the dearer object of its flame. <br>Hope sickens with extravagance; and grief, <br>Of life impatient, into madness swells; <br>Or in dead silence wastes the weeping hours. <br>These, and a thousand mixt emotions more, <br>From ever changing views of good and ill, <br>Form'd infinitely various, vex the mind <br>With endless storm: whence, deeply rankling, grows <br>The partial thought, a listless unconcern, <br>Cold, and averting from our neighbour's good; <br>Then dark disgust, and hatred, winding wiles, <br>Coward deceit, and ruffian violence: <br>At last, extinct each social feeling, fell <br>And joyless inhumanity pervades <br>And petrifies the heart. Nature disturb'd <br>Is deem'd vindictive, to have chang'd her course. <br>Hence, in old dusky time, a deluge came: <br>When the deep-cleft disparting orb, that arch'd <br>The central waters round, impetuous rush'd, <br>With universal burst, into the gulf, <br>And o'er the high-piled hills of fractured earth <br>Wide dash'd the waves, in undulation vast; <br>Till, from the centre to the streaming clouds, <br>A shoreless ocean tumbled round the globe. <br>The Seasons since have, with severer sway, <br>Oppress'd a broken world: the Winter keen <br>Shook forth his waste of snows; and Summer shot <br>His pestilential heats. Great Spring, before, <br>Green'd all the year; and fruits and blossoms blush'd, <br>In social sweetness, on the selfsame bough. <br>Pure was the temperate air; an even calm <br>Perpetual reign'd, save what the zephyrs bland <br>Breathed o'er the blue expanse: for then nor storms <br>Were taught to blow, nor hurricanes to rage; <br>Sound slept the waters; no sulphureous glooms <br>Swell'd in the sky, and sent the lightning forth; <br>While sickly damps and cold autumnal fogs <br>Hung not, relaxing, on the springs of life. <br>But now, of turbid elements the sport, <br>From clear to cloudy tost, from hot to cold, <br>And dry to moist, with inward-eating change, <br>Our drooping days are dwindled down to nought, <br>Their period finish'd ere 'tis well begun. <br>And yet the wholesome herb neglected dies; <br>Though with the pure exhilarating soul <br>Of nutriment and health, and vital powers, <br>Beyond the search of art, 'tis copious blest. <br>For, with hot ravine fired, ensanguined man <br>Is now become the lion of the plain, <br>And worse. The wolf, who from the nightly fold <br>Fierce drags the bleating prey, ne'er drunk her milk, <br>Nor wore her warming fleece: nor has the steer, <br>At whose strong chest the deadly tiger hangs, <br>E'er plough'd for him. They too are temper'd high, <br>With hunger stung and wild necessity; <br>Nor lodges pity in their shaggy breast. <br>But man, whom Nature form'd of milder clay, <br>With every kind emotion in his heart, <br>And taught alone to weep; while from her lap <br>She pours ten thousand delicacies, herbs, <br>And fruits, as numerous as the drops of rain <br>Or beams that gave them birth: shall he, fair form! <br>Who wears sweet smiles, and looks erect on Heaven, <br>E'er stoop to mingle with the prowling herd, <br>And dip his tongue in gore? The beast of prey, <br>Blood-stain'd, deserves to bleed: but you, ye flocks, <br>What have you done; ye peaceful people, what, <br>To merit death? you, who have given us milk <br>In luscious streams, and lent us your own coat <br>Against the Winter's cold? and the plain ox, <br>That harmless, honest, guileless animal, <br>In what has he offended? he, whose toil, <br>Patient and ever ready, clothes the land <br>With all the pomp of harvest; shall he bleed, <br>And struggling groan beneath the cruel hands <br>E'en of the clown he feeds? and that, perhaps, <br>To swell the riot of the autumnal feast, <br>Won by his labour? Thus the feeling heart <br>Would tenderly suggest: but 'tis enough, <br>In this late age, adventurous, to have touch'd <br>Light on the numbers of the Samian sage. <br>High Heaven forbids the bold presumptuous strain, <br>Whose wisest will has fix'd us in a state <br>That must not yet to pure perfection rise. <br>Now when the first foul torrent of the brooks, <br>Swell'd with the vernal rains, is ebb'd away, <br>And, whitening, down their mossy-tinctured stream <br>Descends the billowy foam: now is the time, <br>While yet the dark-brown water aids the guile, <br>To tempt the trout. The well-dissembled fly, <br>The rod fine-tapering with elastic spring, <br>Snatch'd from the hoary steed the floating line, <br>And all thy slender watry stores prepare. <br>But let not on thy hook the tortured worm, <br>Convulsive, twist in agonizing folds; <br>Which, by rapacious hunger swallow'd deep, <br>Gives, as you tear it from the bleeding breast <br>Of the weak helpless uncomplaining wretch, <br>Harsh pain and horror to the tender hand. <br>When with his lively ray the potent sun <br>Has pierced the streams, and roused the finny-race, <br>Then, issuing cheerful, to thy sport repair; <br>Chief should the western breezes curling play, <br>And light o'er ether bear the shadowy clouds, <br>High to their fount, this day, amid the hills, <br>And woodlands warbling round, trace up the brooks; <br>The next, pursue their rocky-channel'd maze, <br>Down to the river, in whose ample wave <br>Their little naiads love to sport at large. <br>Just in the dubious point, where with the pool <br>Is mix'd the trembling stream, or where it boils <br>Around the stone, or from the hollow'd bank <br>Reverted plays in undulating flow, <br>There throw, nice-judging, the delusive fly; <br>And as you lead it round in artful curve, <br>With eye attentive mark the springing game. <br>Straight as above the surface of the flood <br>They wanton rise, or urged by hunger leap, <br>Then fix, with gentle twitch, the barbed hook: <br>Some lightly tossing to the grassy bank, <br>And to the shelving shore slow dragging some, <br>With various hand proportion'd to their force. <br>If yet too young, and easily deceived, <br>A worthless prey scarce bends your pliant rod, <br>Him, piteous of his youth and the short space <br>He has enjoy'd the vital light of Heaven, <br>Soft disengage, and back into the stream <br>The speckled captive throw. But should you lure <br>From his dark haunt, beneath the tangled roots <br>Of pendent trees, the monarch of the brook, <br>Behoves you then to ply your finest art. <br>Long time he, following cautious, scans the fly; <br>And oft attempts to seize it, but as oft <br>The dimpled water speaks his jealous fear. <br>At last, while haply o'er the shaded sun <br>Passes a cloud, he desperate takes the death, <br>With sullen plunge. At once he darts along, <br>Deep-struck, and runs out all the lengthened line; <br>Then seeks the farthest ooze, the sheltering weed, <br>The cavern'd bank, his old secure abode; <br>And flies aloft, and flounces round the pool, <br>Indignant of the guile. With yielding hand, <br>That feels him still, yet to his furious course <br>Gives way, you, now retiring, following now <br>Across the stream, exhaust his idle rage: <br>Till floating broad upon his breathless side, <br>And to his fate abandon'd, to the shore <br>You gaily drag your unresisting prize. <br>Thus pass the temperate hours; but when the sun <br>Shakes from his noon-day throne the scattering clouds, <br>Even shooting listless langour through the deeps; <br>Then seek the bank where flowering elders crowd, <br>Where scatter'd wild the lily of the vale <br>Its balmy essence breathes, where cowslips hang <br>The dewy head, where purple violets lurk, <br>With all the lowly children of the shade: <br>Or lie reclined beneath yon spreading ash, <br>Hung o'er the steep; whence, borne on liquid wing, <br>The sounding culver shoots; or where the hawk, <br>High, in the beetling cliff, his eyry builds. <br>There let the classic page thy fancy lead <br>Through rural scenes; such as the Mantuan swain <br>Paints in the matchless harmony of song. <br>Or catch thyself the landscape, gliding swift <br>Athwart imagination's vivid eye: <br>Or by the vocal woods and waters lull'd, <br>And lost in lonely musing, in the dream, <br>Confused, of careless solitude, where mix <br>Ten thousand wandering images of things, <br>Soothe every gust of passion into peace; <br>All but the swellings of the soften'd heart, <br>That waken, not disturb, the tranquil mind. <br>Behold yon breathing prospect bids the Muse <br>Throw all her beauty forth. But who can paint <br>Like Nature? Can imagination boast, <br>Amid its gay creation, hues like hers? <br>Or can it mix them with that matchless skill, <br>And lose them in each other, as appears <br>In every bud that blows? If fancy then <br>Unequal fails beneath the pleasing task, <br>Ah, what shall language do? Ah, where find words <br>Tinged with so many colours; and whose power, <br>To life approaching, may perfume my lays <br>With that fine oil, those aromatic gales, <br>That inexhaustive flow continual round? <br>Yet, though successless, will the toil delight. <br>Come then, ye virgins and ye youths, whose hearts <br>Have felt the raptures of refining love; <br>And thou, Amanda, come, pride of my song! <br>Form'd by the Graces, loveliness itself! <br>Come with those downcast eyes, sedate and sweet, <br>Those looks demure, that deeply pierce the soul, <br>Where, with the light of thoughtful reason mix'd, <br>Shines lively fancy and the feeling heart: <br>Oh come! and while the rosy-footed May <br>Steals blushing on, together let us tread <br>The morning dews, and gather in their prime <br>Fresh-blooming flowers, to grace thy braided hair, <br>And thy loved bosom that improves their sweets. <br>See, where the winding vale its lavish stores, <br>Irriguous, spreads. See, how the lily drinks <br>The latent rill, scarce oozing through the grass, <br>Of growth luxuriant; or the humid bank, <br>In fair profusion, decks. Long let us walk, <br>Where the breeze blows from yon extended field <br>Of blossom'd beans. Arabia cannot boast <br>A fuller gale of joy, than, liberal, thence <br>Breathes through the sense, and takes the ravished soul. <br>Nor is the mead unworthy of thy foot, <br>Full of fresh verdure, and unnumber'd flowers, <br>The negligence of Nature, wide, and wild; <br>Where, undisguised by mimic Art, she spreads <br>Unbounded beauty to the roving eye. <br>Here their delicious task the fervent bees, <br>In swarming millions, tend: around, athwart, <br>Through the soft air, the busy nations fly, <br>Cling to the bud, and, with inserted tube, <br>Suck its pure essence, its ethereal soul; <br>And oft, with bolder wing, they soaring dare <br>The purple heath, or where the wild thyme grows, <br>And yellow load them with the luscious spoil. <br>At length the finish'd garden to the view <br>Its vistas opens, and its alleys green. <br>Snatch'd through the verdant maze, the hurried eye <br>Distracted wanders; now the bowery walk <br>Of covert close, where scarce a speck of day <br>Falls on the lengthen'd gloom, protracted sweeps: <br>Now meets the bending sky; the river now <br>Dimpling along, the breezy ruffled lake, <br>The forest darkening round, the glittering spire, <br>The ethereal mountain, and the distant main. <br>But why so far excursive? when at hand, <br>Along these blushing borders, bright with dew, <br>And in yon mingled wilderness of flowers, <br>Fair-handed spring unbosoms every grace; <br>Throws out the snowdrop and the crocus first; <br>The daisy, primrose, violet darkly blue, <br>And polyanthus of unnumber'd dyes; <br>The yellow wall-flower, stain'd with iron brown; <br>And lavish stock that scents the garden round: <br>From the soft wing of vernal breezes shed, <br>Anemones; auriculas, enriched <br>With shining meal o'er all their velvet leaves; <br>And full ranunculas, of glowing red. <br>Then comes the tulip-race, where Beauty plays <br>Her idle freaks; from family diffused <br>To family, as flies the father-dust, <br>The varied colours run; and, while they break <br>On the charm'd eye, the exulting florist marks, <br>With secret pride, the wonders of his hand. <br>No gradual bloom is wanting; from the bud, <br>Firstborn of Spring, to Summer's musky tribes: <br>Nor hyacinths, of purest virgin white, <br>Low-bent, and blushing inward; nor jonquils, <br>Of potent fragrance; nor Narcissus fair, <br>As o'er the fabled fountain hanging still; <br>Nor broad carnations, nor gay-spotted pinks; <br>Nor, shower'd from every bush, the damask-rose. <br>Infinite numbers, delicacies, smells, <br>With hues on hues expression cannot paint, <br>The breath of Nature, and her endless bloom. <br>Hail, Source of Being! Universal Soul <br>Of Heaven and earth! Essential Presence, hail! <br>To Thee I bend the knee; to Thee my thoughts, <br>Continual, climb; who, with a master-hand, <br>Hast the great whole into perfection touched. <br>By Thee the various vegetative tribes, <br>Wrapt in a filmy net, and clad with leaves, <br>Draw the live ether, and imbibe the dew: <br>By Thee disposed into congenial soils, <br>Stands each attractive plant, and sucks, and swells <br>The juicy tide; a twining mass of tubes. <br>At Thy command the vernal sun awakes <br>The torpid sap, detruded to the root <br>By wintry winds; that now in fluent dance, <br>And lively fermentation, mounting, spreads <br>All this innumerous-colour'd scene of things. <br>As rising from the vegetable world <br>My theme ascends, with equal wing ascend, <br>My panting Muse; and hark, how loud the woods <br>Invite you forth in all your gayest trim. <br>Lend me your song, ye nightingales! oh, pour <br>The mazy-running soul of melody <br>Into my varied verse! while I deduce, <br>From the first note the hollow cuckoo sings, <br>The symphony of Spring, and touch a theme <br>Unknown to fame,—the passion of the groves. <br>When first the soul of love is sent abroad, <br>Warm through the vital air, and on the heart <br>Harmonious seizes, the gay troops begin, <br>In gallant thought, to plume the painted wing; <br>And try again the long-forgotten strain, <br>At first faint-warbled. But no sooner grows <br>The soft infusion prevalent, and wide, <br>Than, all alive, at once their joy o'erflows <br>In music unconfined. Up-springs the lark, <br>Shrill-voiced, and loud, the messenger of morn; <br>Ere yet the shadows fly, he mounted sings <br>Amid the dawning clouds, and from their haunts <br>Calls up the tuneful nations. Every copse <br>Deep-tangled, tree irregular, and bush <br>Bending with dewy moisture, o'er the heads <br>Of the coy quiristers that lodge within, <br>Are prodigal of harmony. The thrush <br>And wood-lark, o'er the kind-contending throng <br>Superior heard, run through the sweetest length <br>Of notes; when listening Philomela deigns <br>To let them joy, and purposes, in thought <br>Elate, to make her night excel their day. <br>The black-bird whistles from the thorny brake; <br>The mellow bullfinch answers from the grove: <br>Nor are the linnets, o'er the flowering furze <br>Pour'd out profusely, silent. Join'd to these <br>Innumerous songsters, in the freshening shade <br>Of new-sprung leaves, their modulations mix <br>Mellifluous. The jay, the rook, the daw, <br>And each harsh pipe, discordant heard alone, <br>Aid the full concert: while the stock-dove breathes <br>A melancholy murmur through the whole. <br>'Tis love creates their melody, and all <br>This waste of music is the voice of love; <br>That even to birds, and beasts, the tender arts <br>Of pleasing teaches. Hence the glossy kind <br>Try every winning way inventive love <br>Can dictate, and in courtship to their mates <br>Pour forth their little souls. First, wide around, <br>With distant awe, in airy rings they rove, <br>Endeavouring by a thousand tricks to catch <br>The cunning, conscious, half-averted glance <br>Of the regardless charmer. Should she seem <br>Softening the least approvance to bestow, <br>Their colours burnish, and by hope inspired, <br>They brisk advance; then, on a sudden struck, <br>Retire disorder'd; then again approach; <br>In fond rotation spread the spotted wing, <br>And shiver every feather with desire. <br>Connubial leagues agreed, to the deep woods <br>They haste away, all as their fancy leads, <br>Pleasure, or food, or secret safety prompts; <br>That Nature's great command may be obey'd: <br>Nor all the sweet sensations they perceive <br>Indulged in vain. Some to the holly-hedge <br>Nestling repair, and to the thicket some; <br>Some to the rude protection of the thorn <br>Commit their feeble offspring. The cleft tree <br>Offers its kind concealment to a few, <br>Their food its insects, and its moss their nests. <br>Others apart far in the grassy dale, <br>Or roughening waste, their humble texture weare. <br>But most in woodland solitudes delight, <br>In unfrequented glooms, or shaggy banks, <br>Steep, and divided by a babbling brook, <br>Whose murmurs soothe them all the live-long day, <br>When by kind duty fix'd. Among the roots <br>Of hazel, pendent o'er the plaintive stream, <br>They frame the first foundation of their domes; <br>Dry sprigs of trees, in artful fabric laid, <br>And bound with clay together. Now 'tis nought <br>But restless hurry through the busy air, <br>Beat by unnumber'd wings. The swallow sweeps <br>The slimy pool, to build his hanging house <br>Intent. And often, from the careless back <br>Of herds and flocks, a thousand tugging bills <br>Pluck hair and wool; and oft, when unobserved, <br>Steal from the barn a straw: till soft and warm, <br>Clean and complete, their habitation grows. <br>As thus the patient dam assiduous sits, <br>Not to be tempted from her tender task, <br>Or by sharp hunger, or by smooth delight, <br>Though the whole loosen'd Spring around her blows, <br>Her sympathizing lover takes his stand <br>High on the opponent bank, and ceaseless sings <br>The tedious time away; or else supplies <br>Her place a moment, while she sudden flits <br>To pick the scanty meal. The appointed time <br>With pious toil fulfill'd, the callow young, <br>Warm'd and expanded into perfect life, <br>Their brittle bondage break, and come to light, <br>A helpless family, demanding food <br>With constant clamour: O what passions then, <br>What melting sentiments of kindly care, <br>On the new parents seize! Away they fly <br>Affectionate, and undesiring bear <br>The most delicious morsel to their young; <br>Which equally distributed, again <br>The search begins. Even so a gentle pair, <br>By fortune sunk, but form'd of generous mould, <br>And charm'd with cares beyond the vulgar breast, <br>In some lone cot amid the distant woods, <br>Sustain'd alone by providential Heaven, <br>Oft, as they weeping eye their infant train, <br>Check their own appetites, and give them all. <br>Nor toil alone they scorn: exalting love, <br>By the great Father of the Spring inspired, <br>Gives instant courage to the fearful race, <br>And to the simple art. With stealthy wing, <br>Should some rude foot their woody haunts molest, <br>Amid a neighbouring bush they silent drop, <br>And whirring thence, as if alarm'd, deceive <br>The unfeeling schoolboy. Hence, around the head <br>Of wandering swain, the white-wing'd plover wheels <br>Her sounding flight, and then directly on <br>In long excursion skims the level lawn, <br>To tempt him from her nest. The wild-duck, hence, <br>O'er the rough moss, and o'er the trackless waste <br>The heath-hen flutters, pious fraud! to lead <br>The hot pursuing spaniel far astray. <br>Be not the Muse ashamed, here to bemoan <br>Her brothers of the grove, by tyrant Man <br>Inhuman caught, and in the narrow cage <br>From liberty confined, and boundless air. <br>Dull are the pretty slaves, their plumage dull, <br>Ragged, and all its brightening lustre lost; <br>Nor is that sprightly wildness in their notes, <br>Which, clear and vigorous, warbles from the beech. <br>O then, ye friends of love and love-taught song, <br>Spare the soft tribes, this barbarous art forbear; <br>If on your bosom innocence can win, <br>Music engage, or piety persuade. <br>But let not chief the nightingale lament <br>Her ruin'd care too delicately framed <br>To brook the harsh confinement of the cage. <br>Oft when, returning with her loaded bill, <br>The astonish'd mother finds a vacant nest, <br>By the hard hand of unrelenting clowns <br>Robb'd, to the ground the vain provision falls; <br>Her pinions ruffle, and low-drooping scarce <br>Can bear the mourner to the poplar shade; <br>Where, all abandon'd to despair, she sings <br>Her sorrows through the night; and, on the bough, <br>Sole-sitting, still at every dying fall <br>Takes up again her lamentable strain <br>Of winding woe; till, wide around, the woods <br>Sigh to her song, and with her wail resound. <br>But now the feather'd youth their former bounds, <br>Ardent, disdain; and, weighing oft their wings, <br>Demand the free possession of the sky: <br>This one glad office more, and then dissolves <br>Parental love at once, now needless grown. <br>Unlavish Wisdom never works in vain. <br>Tis on some evening, sunny, grateful, mild, <br>When nought but balm is breathing through the woods, <br>With yellow lustre bright, that the new tribes <br>Visit the spacious heavens, and look abroad <br>On Nature's common, far as they can see, <br>Or wing, their range and pasture. O'er the boughs <br>Dancing about, still at the giddy verge <br>Their resolution fails; their pinions still, <br>In loose libration stretch'd, to trust the void <br>Trembling refuse: till down before them fly <br>The parent guides, and chide, exhort, command, <br>Or push them off. The surging air receives <br>Its plumy burden; and their self-taught wings <br>Winnow the waving element. On ground <br>Alighted, bolder up again they lead, <br>Farther and farther on, the lengthening flight; <br>Till vanish'd every fear, and every power <br>Roused into life and action, light in air <br>The acquitted parents see their soaring race, <br>And once rejoicing never know them more. <br>High from the summit of a craggy cliff, <br>Hung o'er the deep, such as amazing frowns <br>On utmost Kilda's shore, whose lonely race <br>Resign the setting sun to Indian worlds, <br>The royal eagle draws his vigorous young, <br>Strong-pounced, and ardent with paternal fire. <br>Now fit to raise a kingdom of their own, <br>He drives them from his fort, the towering seat, <br>For ages, of his empire; which, in peace, <br>Unstain'd he holds, while many a league to sea <br>He wings his course, and preys in distant isles. <br>Should I my steps turn to the rural seat, <br>Whose lofty elms, and venerable oaks, <br>Invite the rook, who high amid the boughs, <br>In early Spring, his airy city builds, <br>And ceaseless caws amusive; there, well-pleased, <br>I might the various polity survey <br>Of the mix'd household kind. The careful hen <br>Calls all her chirping family around, <br>Fed and defended by the fearless cock; <br>Whose breast with ardour flames, as on he walks, <br>Graceful, and crows defiance. In the pond, <br>The finely checker'd duck, before her train, <br>Rows garrulous. The stately-sailing swan <br>Gives out his snowy plumage to the gale; <br>And, arching proud his neck, with oary feet <br>Bears forward fierce, and guards his osier-isle, <br>Protective of his young. The turkey nigh, <br>Loud-threatening, reddens; while the peacock spreads <br>His every-colour'd glory to the sun, <br>And swims in radiant majesty along. <br>O'er the whole homely scene, the cooing dove <br>Flies thick in amorous chase, and wanton rolls <br>The glancing eye, and turns the changeful neck. <br>While thus the gentle tenants of the shade <br>Indulge their purer loves, the rougher world <br>Of brutes, below, rush furious into flame, <br>And fierce desire. Through all his lusty veins <br>The bull, deep-scorch'd, the raging passion feels. <br>Of pasture sick, and negligent of food, <br>Scarce seen, he wades among the yellow broom, <br>While o'er his ample sides the rambling spray <br>Luxuriant shoot; or through the mazy wood <br>Dejected wanders, nor the inticing bud <br>Crops, though it presses on his careless sense. <br>And oft, in jealous madening fancy wrapt, <br>He seeks the fight; and, idly-butting, feigns <br>His rival gored in every knotty trunk. <br>Him should he meet, the bellowing war begins: <br>Their eyes flash fury; to the hollow'd earth, <br>Whence the sand flies, they mutter bloody deeds, <br>And groaning deep, the impetuous battle mix: <br>While the fair heifer, balmy-breathing, near, <br>Stands kindling up their rage. The trembling steed, <br>With this hot impulse seized in every nerve, <br>Nor heeds the rein, nor hears the sounding thong; <br>Blows are not felt; but tossing high his head, <br>And by the well-known joy to distant plains <br>Attracted strong, all wild he bursts away; <br>O'er rocks, and woods, and craggy mountains flies; <br>And, neighing, on the aërial summit takes <br>The exciting gale; then, steep-descending, cleaves <br>The headlong torrents foaming down the hills, <br>E'en where the madness of the straiten'd stream <br>Turns in black eddies round: such is the force <br>With which his frantic heart and sinews swell. <br>Nor undelighted by the boundless Spring <br>Are the broad monsters of the foaming deep: <br>From the deep ooze and gelid cavern roused, <br>They flounce and tumble in unwieldy joy. <br>Dire were the strain, and dissonant to sing <br>The cruel raptures of the savage kind: <br>How by this flame their native wrath sublimed, <br>They roam, amid the fury of their heart, <br>The far-resounding waste in fiercer bands, <br>And growl their horrid loves. But this the theme <br>I sing, enraptured, to the British Fair, <br>Forbids, and leads me to the mountain-brow, <br>Where sits the shepherd on the grassy turf, <br>Inhaling, healthful, the descending sun. <br>Around him feeds his many-bleating flock, <br>Of various cadence; and his sportive lambs, <br>This way and that convolved, in friskful glee, <br>Their frolics play. And now the sprightly race <br>Invites them forth; when swift, the signal given, <br>They start away, and sweep the massy mound <br>That runs around the hill; the rampart once <br>Of iron war, in ancient barbarous times, <br>When disunited Britain ever bled, <br>Lost in eternal broil: ere yet she grew <br>To this deep-laid indissoluble state, <br>Where Wealth and Commerce lift their golden heads; <br>And o'er our labours, Liberty and Law, <br>Impartial, watch; the wonder of a world! <br>What is this mighty breath, ye sages, say, <br>That, in a powerful language, felt, not heard, <br>Instructs the fowls of Heaven; and through their breast <br>These arts of love diffuses? What, but God? <br>Inspiring God! who boundless Spirit all, <br>And unremitting Energy, pervades, <br>Adjusts, sustains, and agitates the whole. <br>He ceaseless works alone; and yet alone <br>Seems not to work: with such perfection framed <br>Is this complex stupendous scheme of things. <br>But, though conceal'd, to every purer eye <br>The informing Author in his works appears: <br>Chief, lovely Spring, in thee, and thy soft scenes, <br>The Smiling God is seen; while water, earth, <br>And air attest his bounty; which exalts <br>The brute creation to this finer thought, <br>And annual melts their undesigning hearts <br>Profusely thus in tenderness and joy. <br>Still let my song a nobler note assume, <br>And sing the infusive force of Spring on man; <br>When heaven and earth, as if contending, vie <br>To raise his being, and serene his soul. <br>Can he forbear to join the general smile <br>Of Nature? Can fierce passions vex his breast, <br>While every gale is peace, and every grove <br>Is melody? hence! from the bounteous walks <br>Of flowing Spring, ye sordid sons of earth, <br>Hard, and unfeeling of another's woe; <br>Or only lavish to yourselves; away! <br>But come, ye generous minds, in whose wide thought, <br>Of all his works, creative Bounty burns <br>With warmest beam; and on your open front <br>And liberal eye, sits, from his dark retreat <br>Inviting modest Want. Nor, till invoked, <br>Can restless goodness wait: your active search <br>Leaves no cold wintry corner unexplored; <br>Like silent-working Heaven, surprising oft <br>The lonely heart with unexpected good. <br>For you the roving spirit of the wind <br>Blows Spring abroad; for you the teeming clouds <br>Descend in gladsome plenty o'er the world; <br>And the sun sheds his kindest rays for you, <br>Ye flower of human race! in these green days, <br>Reviving Sickness lifts her languid head; <br>Life flows afresh; and young-eyed Health exalts <br>The whole creation round. Contentment walks <br>The sunny glade, and feels an inward bliss <br>Spring o'er his mind, beyond the power of kings <br>To purchase. Pure serenity apace <br>Induces thought, and contemplation still. <br>By swift degrees the love of Nature works, <br>And warms the bosom; till at last sublimed <br>To rapture, and enthusiastic heat, <br>We feel the present Deity, and taste <br>The joy of God to see a happy world! <br>These are the sacred feelings of thy heart, <br>Thy heart inform'd by reason's purer ray, <br>O Lyttelton, the friend! thy passions thus <br>And meditations vary, as at large, <br>Courting the Muse, through Hagley Park thou stray'st; <br>The British Tempé! there along the dale, <br>With woods o'erhung, and shagg'd with mossy rocks, <br>Whence on each hand the gushing waters play, <br>And down the rough cascade white-dashing fall, <br>Or gleam in lengthened vista through the trees, <br>You silent steal; or sit beneath the shade <br>Of solemn oaks, that tuft the swelling mounts <br>Thrown graceful round by Nature's careless hand, <br>And pensive listen to the various voice <br>Of rural peace: the herds, the flocks, the birds, <br>The hollow-whispering breeze, the plaint of rills, <br>That, purling down amid the twisted roots <br>Which creep around, their dewy murmurs shake <br>On the soothed ear. From these abstracted oft, <br>You wander through the philosophic world; <br>Where in bright train continual wonders rise, <br>Or to the curious or the pious eye. <br>And oft, conducted by historic truth, <br>You tread the long extent of backward time: <br>Planning, with warm benevolence of mind, <br>And honest zeal unwarp'd by party-rage, <br>Britannia's weal; how from the venal gulf <br>To raise her virtue, and her arts revive. <br>Or, turning thence thy view, these graver thougths <br>The Muses charm: while, with sure taste refined, <br>You draw the inspiring breath of ancient song; <br>Till nobly rises, emulous, thy own. <br>Perhaps thy loved Lucinda shares thy walk, <br>With soul to thine attuned. Then Nature all <br>Wears to the lover's eye a look of love; <br>And all the tumult of a guilty world, <br>Tost by ungenerous passions, sinks away. <br>The tender heart is animated peace; <br>And as it pours its copious treasures forth, <br>In varied converse, softening every theme, <br>You, frequent-pausing, turn, and from her eyes, <br>Where meeken'd sense, and amiable grace, <br>And lively sweetness dwell, enraptured, drink <br>That nameless spirit of ethereal joy, <br>Unutterable happiness! which love, <br>Alone, bestows, and on a favour'd few. <br>Meantime you gain the height, from whose fair brow <br>The bursting prospect spreads immense around: <br>And snatch'd o'er hill and dale, and wood and lawn, <br>And verdant field, and darkening heath between, <br>And villages embosom'd soft in trees, <br>And spiry towns by surging columns mark'd <br>Of household smoke, your eye excursive roams: <br>Wide-stretching from the hall, in whose kind haunt <br>The Hospitable Genius lingers still, <br>To where the broken landscape, by degrees, <br>Ascending, roughens into rigid hills; <br>O'er which the Cambrian mountains, like far clouds <br>That skirt the blue horizon, dusky rise. <br>Flush'd by the spirit of the genial year, <br>Now from the virgin's cheek a fresher bloom <br>Shoots, less and less, the live carnation round; <br>Her lips blush deeper sweets; she breathes of youth; <br>The shining moisture swells into her eyes, <br>In brighter flow; her wishing bosom heaves, <br>With palpitations wild; kind tumults seize <br>Her veins, and all her yielding soul is love. <br>From the keen gaze her lover turns away, <br>Full of the dear ecstatic power, and sick <br>With sighing languishment. Ah then, ye fair! <br>Be greatly cautious of your sliding hearts: <br>Dare not the infectious sigh; the pleading look, <br>Down-cast and low, in meek submission dress'd, <br>But full of guile. Let not the fervent tongue, <br>Prompt to deceive, with adulation smooth, <br>Gain on your purposed will. Nor in the bower, <br>Where woodbines flaunt, and roses shed a couch, <br>While Evening draws her crimson curtains round, <br>Trust your soft minutes with betraying Man. <br>And let the aspiring youth beware of love, <br>Of the smooth glance beware; for 'tis too late, <br>When on his heart the torrent-softness pours; <br>Then wisdom prostrate lies, and fading fame <br>Dissolves in air away; while the fond soul, <br>Wrapp'd in gay visions of unreal bliss, <br>Still paints the illusive form; the kindling grace; <br>The inticing smile; the modest-seeming eye, <br>Beneath whose beauteous beams, belying Heaven, <br>Lurk searchless cunning, cruelty, and death: <br>And still false-warbling in his cheated ear, <br>Her siren voice, enchanting, draws him on <br>To guileful shores, and meads of fatal joy. <br>E'en present, in the very lap of love <br>Inglorious laid; while music flows around, <br>Perfumes, and oils, and wine, and wanton hours; <br>Amid the roses fierce Repentance rears <br>Her snaky crest: a quick returning pang <br>Shoots through the conscious heart; where honour still, <br>And great design, against the oppressive load <br>Of luxury, by fits, impatient heave. <br>But absent, what fantastic woes, aroused, <br>Rage in each thought, by restless musing fed, <br>Chill the warm cheek, and blast the bloom of life? <br>Neglected fortune flies; and sliding swift, <br>Prone into ruin fall his scorn'd affairs. <br>'Tis nought but gloom around: the darken'd sun <br>Loses his light. The rosy-bosom'd Spring <br>To weeping fancy pines; and yon bright arch, <br>Contracted, bends into a dusky vault. <br>All Nature fades extinct: and she alone, <br>Heard, felt, and seen, possesses every thought, <br>Fills every sense, and pants in every vein. <br>Books are but formal dulness, tedious friends; <br>And sad amid the social band he sits, <br>Lonely, and unattentive. From his tongue <br>The unfinish'd period falls: while borne away <br>On swelling thought, his wafted spirit flies <br>To the vain bosom of his distant fair; <br>And leaves the semblance of a lover, fix'd <br>In melancholy site, with head declined, <br>And love-dejected eyes. Sudden he starts, <br>Shook from his tender trance, and restless runs <br>To glimmering shades, and sympathetic glooms; <br>Where the dun umbrage o'er the falling stream, <br>Romantic, hangs; there through the pensive dusk <br>Strays, in heart-thrilling meditation lost, <br>Indulging all to love: or on the bank <br>Thrown, amid drooping lilies, swells the breeze <br>With sighs unceasing, and the brook with tears. <br>Thus in soft anguish he consumes the day, <br>Nor quits his deep retirement, till the Moon <br>Peeps through the chambers of the fleecy east, <br>Enlightened by degrees, and in her train <br>Leads on the gentle Hours; then forth he walks, <br>Beneath the trembling languish of her beam, <br>With soften'd soul, and woos the bird of eve <br>To mingle woes with his: or, while the world <br>And all the sons of Care lie hush'd in sleep, <br>Associates with the midnight shadows drear; <br>And, sighing to the lonely taper, pours <br>His idly-tortured heart into the page, <br>Meant for the moving messenger of love; <br>Where rapture burns on rapture, every line <br>With rising frenzy fired. But if on bed <br>Delirious flung, sleep from his pillow flies. <br>All night he tosses, nor the balmy power <br>In any posture finds; till the grey Morn <br>Lifts her pale lustre on the paler wretch, <br>Exanimate by love: and then perhaps <br>Exhausted Nature sinks a while to rest, <br>Still interrupted by distractèd dreams, <br>That o'er the sick imagination rise, <br>And in black colours paint the mimic scene. <br>Oft with the enchantress of his soul he talks; <br>Sometimes in crowds distress'd; or if retired <br>To secret winding flower-enwoven bowers, <br>Far from the dull impertinence of Man, <br>Just as he, credulous, his endless cares <br>Begins to lose in blind oblivious love, <br>Snatch'd from her yielded hand, he knows not how, <br>Through forests huge, and long untravel'd heaths <br>With desolation brown, he wanders waste, <br>In night and tempest wrapp'd: or shrinks aghast, <br>Back, from the bending precipice; or wades <br>The turbid stream below, and strives to reach <br>The farther shore; where succourless, and sad, <br>She with extended arms his aid implores; <br>But strives in vain; borne by the outrageous flood <br>To distance down, he rides the ridgy wave, <br>Or whelm'd beneath the boiling eddy sinks. <br>These are the charming agonies of love, <br>Whose misery delights. But through the heart <br>Should jealousy its venom once diffuse, <br>'Tis then delightful misery no more, <br>But agony unmix'd incessant gall, <br>Coroding every thought, and blasting all <br>Love's paradise. Ye fairy prospects, then, <br>Ye beds of roses, and ye bowers of joy, <br>Farewell! ye gleamings of departed peace, <br>Shine out your last! the yellow-tinging plague <br>Internal vision taints, and in a night <br>Of livid gloom imagination wraps. <br>Ah then! instead of love-enliven'd cheeks, <br>Of sunny features, and of ardent eyes <br>With flowing rapture bright, dark looks succeed <br>Suffused and glaring with untender fire; <br>A clouded aspect, and a burning cheek, <br>Where the whole poison'd soul, malignant, sits, <br>And frightens love away. Ten thousand fears <br>Invented wild, ten thousand frantic views <br>Of horrid rivals, hanging on the charms <br>For which he melts in fondness, eat him up <br>With fervent anguish, and consuming rage. <br>In vain reproaches lend their idle aid, <br>Deceitful pride, and resolution frail, <br>Giving false peace a moment. Fancy pours, <br>Afresh, her beauties on his busy thought, <br>Her first endearments twining round the soul, <br>With all the witchcraft of ensnaring love. <br>Straight the fierce storm involves his mind anew <br>Flames through the nerves, and boils along the veins; <br>While anxious doubt distracts the tortured heart <br>For e'en the sad assurance of his fears <br>Were ease to what he feels. Thus the warm youth <br>Whom love deludes into his thorny wilds, <br>Through flowery tempting paths, or leads a life <br>Of fever'd rapture or of cruel care; <br>His brightest aims extinguish'd all, and all <br>His lively moments running down to waste. <br>But happy they! the happiest of their kind! <br>Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate <br>Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend. <br>'Tis not the coarser tie of human laws, <br>Unnatural oft and foreign to the mind, <br>That binds their peace, but harmony itself, <br>Attuning all their passions into love; <br>Where friendship full-exerts her softest power, <br>Perfect esteem enliven'd by desire <br>Ineffable, and sympathy of soul; <br>Thought meeting thought, and will preventing will, <br>With boundless confidence: for nought but love <br>Can answer love, and render bliss secure. <br>Let him, ungenerous, who, alone intent <br>To bless himself, from sordid parents buys <br>The loathing virgin, in eternal care, <br>Well-merited, consume his nights and days: <br>Let barbarous nations, whose inhuman love <br>Is wild desire, fierce as the suns they feel; <br>Let eastern tyrants, from the light of Heaven, <br>Seclude their bosom-slaves, meanly possess'd <br>Of a mere lifeless, violated form: <br>While those whom love cements in holy faith, <br>And equal transport, free as Nature live, <br>Disdaining fear. What is the world to them, <br>Its pomp, its pleasure, and its nonsense all? <br>Who in each other clasp whatever fair <br>High fancy forms, and lavish hearts can wish; <br>Something than beauty dearer, should they look <br>Or on the mind, or mind-illumined face; <br>Truth, goodness, honour, harmony, and love, <br>The richest bounty of indulgent Heaven. <br>Meantime a smiling offspring rises round, <br>And mingles both their graces. By degrees, <br>The human blossom blows; and every day, <br>Soft as it rolls along, shows some new charm, <br>The father's lustre, and the mother's bloom. <br>Then infant reason grows apace, and calls <br>For the kind hand of an assiduous care. <br>Delightful task! to rear the tender thought, <br>To teach the young idea how to shoot, <br>To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind, <br>To breathe the enlivening spirit, and to fix <br>The generous purpose in the glowing breast. <br>Oh, speak the joy! ye, whom the sudden tear <br>Surprises often, while you look around, <br>And nothing strikes your eye but sights of bliss, <br>All various Nature pressing on the heart: <br>An elegant sufficiency, content, <br>Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books, <br>Ease and alternate labour, useful life, <br>Progressive virtue, and approving Heaven! <br>These are the matchless joys of virtuous love; <br>And thus their moments fly. The Seasons thus, <br>As ceaseless round a jarring world they roll, <br>Still find them happy; and consenting Spring <br>Sheds her own rosy garland on their heads: <br>Till evening comes at last, serene and mild; <br>When after the long vernal day of life, <br>Enamour'd more, as more remembrance swells <br>With many a proof of recollected love, <br>Together down they sink in social sleep; <br>Together freed, their gentle spirits fly <br>To scenes where love and bliss immortal reign.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+Thomson">James Thomson</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416334" data-title="The Four Seasons : Spring de James Thomson" data-description="Come, gentle Spring! ethereal Mildness! come, And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud, While music wakes around, veil'd in a shower Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend. O Hertford, fitted or to shine in courts With unaffected grace, or..."></div> </div> </div>

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