"The haunts of deer...
And sheep-walks populous with bleating lambs,
And lanes in which the primrose in her time
Peeps through the moss that clothes the hawthorn root, Deceive no stu lent."-Pp. 290 291.
Her silver globes, light as the foamy surf That the wind severs from the broken wave; The lilac various in array, now white,
Now sanguine, and her beauteous head now set With purple spikes pyramidal, as if
Studious of ornament, yet unresolved
Which hue she most approved, she chose them all; Copious of flow'rs the woodbine, pale and wan, But well compensating their sickly looks With never-cloying odours, early and late; Hypericum all bloom, so thick a swarm Of flow'rs like flies, clothing her slender rods, That scarce a leaf appears; mezereon too, Though leafless, well attired, and thick beset With blushing wreaths investing ev'ry spray; Althea with the purple eye; the broom, Yellow and bright as bullion unalloy'd Her blossoms, and luxuriant above all The jasmine, throwing wide her elegant sweets, The deep dark green of whose unvarnish'd leaf Makes more conspicuous, and illumines more The bright profusion of her scatter'd stars.- These have been, and these shall be in their day, And all this uniform uncolour'd scene Shall be dismantled of its fleecy load,
And flush into variety again.
From dearth to plenty, and from death to life, Is Nature's progress when she lectures man In heav'nly truth; evincing, as she makes The grand transition, that there lives and works A soul in all things, and that soul is God. The beauties of the wilderness are his, That make so gay the solitary place Where no eye sees them. And the fairer forms That cultivation glories in, are his.
He sets the bright procession on its way, And marshals all the order of the year.
He marks the bounds which winter may not pass, And blunts his pointed fury. In its case, Russet and rude, folds up the tender germ Uninjured, with inimitable art,
And, ere one flow'ry season fades and dies, Designs the blooming wonders of the nest.
say that in the origin of things.
When all creation started into birth, The infant elements received a law
From which they swerve not since; that under force Of that controlling ordinance they move, And need not his immediate hand, who first Prescribed their course, to regulate it now. Thus dream they, and contrive to save a God Th' incumbrance of his own concerns, and The great Artificer of all that moves The stress of a continual act, the pain Of unremitted vigilance and care, As too laborious and severe a task. So man the moth is not afraid, it seems, To span Omnipotence, and measure might That knows no measure, by the scanty rule And standard of his own, that is to-day, And is not, ere to-morrow's sun go down. But how should matter occupy a charge Dull as it is, and satisfy a law
So vast in its demands, unless impell'd To ceaseless service by a ceaseless force, And under pressure of some conscious cause? The Lord of all, himself through all diffused, Sustains and is the life of all that lives.
Nature is but a name for an effect
Whose cause is God. He feeds the secret fire By which the mighty process is maintain'd, Who sleeps not, is not weary; in whose sight Slow-circling ages are as transient days; Whose work is without labour, whose designs No flaw deforms, no difficulty thwarts, And whose beneficence no charge exhausts. Him blind antiquity profaned, not served, With self-taught rites and under various names Female and male, Pomona, Pales, Pan, And Flora and Vertumnus; peopling earth With tutelary goddesses and gods
That were not, and commending as they would To each some province, garden, field, or grove. But all are under one. One spirit-His
Who bore the platted thorns with bleeding brows, Rules universal nature. Not a flow'r
But shows some touch in freckle, streak, or stain, Of his unrivall'd pencil. He inspires
Their balmy odours and imparts their hues,
And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes, In grains as countless as the sea-side sands, The forms with which he sprinkles all the earth. Happy who walks with him! whom, what he finds Of flavour or of scent in fruit or flow'r, Or what he views of beautiful or grand In nature, from the broad majestic oak To the green blade that twinkles in the sun, Prompts with remembrance of a present God. His presence, who made all so fair, perceived, Makes all still fairer. As with him no scene Is dreary, so with him all seasons please. Though winter had been none, had man been true, And earth be punish'd for its tenant's sake, Yet not in vengeance; as this smiling sky So soon succeeding such an angry night, And these dissolving snows, and this clear stream, Recov'ring fast its liquid music, prove.
Who then, that has a mind well strung and tuned To contemplation, and within his reach A scene so friendly to his fav'rite task, Would waste attention at the chequer'd board, His host of wooden warriors to and fro Marching and counter-marching, with an eye As fixt as marble, with a forehead ridged And furrow'd into storms, and with a hand Trembling, as if eternity were hung In balance on his conduct of a pin? Nor envies he aught more their idle sport, Who pant with application misapplied To trivial toys, and, pushing iv'ry balls Across the velvet level, feel a joy Akin to rapture, when the bauble finds It's destined goal of difficult access.
Nor deems he wiser him, who gives his noon To Miss, the Mercer's plague, from shop to shop Wand'ring, and litt'ring with unfolded silks The polish'd counter, and approving none, Or promising with smiles to call again. Nor him, who, by his vanity seduced, And sooth'd into a dream that he discerns The difference of a Guido from a daub, Frequents the crowded auction. Station'd there As duly as the Langford of the show,
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