To hold a gen'rous undiminish'd state;
Too much in vain! Hence of unequal bounds
Impatient, and by tempting glory borne

O'er ev'ry land, for ev'ry land their life
Has flow'd profuse, their piercing genius plann'd,
And swell'd the pomp of peace their faithful toil.
As from their own clear north, in radiant streams,
Bright over Europe bursts the boreal morn.

Oh is there not some patriot, in whose pow'r
That best, that godlike luxury is plac❜d,
Of blessing thousands, thousands yet unborn,
Through late posterity? some, large of soul,
To cheer dejected industry? to give

A double harvest to the pining swain?
And teach the lab'ring hand the sweets of toil?
How, by the finest art, the native robe
To weave; how, white as hyperborean snow,
To form the lucid lawn; with vent'rous oar
How to dash wide the billow; nor look on,
Shamefully passive, while Batavian fleets
Defraud us of the glitt'ring finny swarms
That heave our friths, and crowd upon our shores;
How all-enliv'ning trade to rouse, and wing

The prosp'rous sail, from ev'ry growing port,
Uninjur'd, round the sea-encircled globe;
And thus, in soul united as in name,

Bid Britain reign the mistress of the deep?

Yes, there are such. And full on thee, Argyle, Her hope, her stay, her darling, and her boast, From her first patriots and her heroes sprung, Thy fond imploring country turns her eye; In thee, with all a mother's triumph, sees Her ev'ry virtue, ev'ry grace combin'd, Her genius, wisdom, her engaging turn, Her pride of honour, and her courage tried, Calm, and intrepid, in the very throat Of sulph'rous war, on Tenier's dreadful field. Nor less the palm of peace inwreathes thy brow: For, pow'rful as thy sword, from thy rich tongue Persuasion flows, and wins the high debate; While mix'd in thee combine the charm of youth, The force of manhood, and the depth of age. Thee, Forbes, too, whom ev'ry worth attends, As truth sincere, as weeping friendship kind, Thee, truly gen'rous, and in silence great, Thy country feels through her reviving arts,

Plann'd by thy wisdom, by thy soul inform'd; And seldom has she known a friend like thee.

But see the fading many-colour'd woods, Shade deep'ning over shade, the country round Imbrown; a crowded umbrage, dusk, and dun, Of ev'ry hue, from wan declining green

To sooty dark. These now the lonesome muse, Low whisp'ring, lead into their leaf-strown walks, And give the season in its latest view.

Mean-time, light shadowing all, a sober calm Fleeces unbounded ether: whose least wave Stands tremulous, uncertain where to turn The gentle current: while illumin'd wide, The dewy skirted clouds imbibe the sun, And through their lucid veil his soften'd force Shed o'er the peaceful world. Then is the time, For those whom wisdom and whom nature charm, To steal themselves from the degen❜rate crowd, And soar above this little scene of things; To tread low-thoughted vice beneath their feet; To sooth the throbbing passions into peace; And woo lone quiet in her silent walks. Thus solitary, and in pensive guise,

Oft let me wander o'er the russet mead,
And thro' the sadden'd grove, where scarce is heard
One dying strain to cheer the woodman's toil.
Haply some widow'd songster pours his plaint,
Far, in faint warblings, through the tawny copse.
While congregated thrushes, linnets, larks,
And each wild throat, whose artless strains so late
Swell'd all the music of the swarming shades,
Robb'd of their tuneful souls, now shiv'ring sit
On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock;
With not a brightness waving o'er their plumes,
And nought save chatt'ring discord in their note.
O let not, aim'd from some inhuman eye,
The gun the music of the coming year
Destroy; and harmless, unsuspecting harm,
Lay the weak tribes a miserable prey,
In mingled murder, flutt'ring on the ground!
The pale descending year, yet pleasing still,
A gentler mood inspires; for now the leaf
Incessant rustles from the mournful grove;
Oft startling such as, studious, walk below,
And slowly circles through the waving air.
But should a quicker breeze amid the boughs

Sob, o'er the sky the leafy deluge streams;
Till chok'd, and matted with the dreary show'r,
The forest-walks, at ev'ry rising gale,

Roll wide the wither'd waste, and whistle bleak.
Fled is the blasted verdure of the fields;
And, shrunk into their beds, the flow'ry race
Their sunny robes resign. E'en what remain'd
Of stronger fruits falls from the naked tree;
And woods, fields, gardens, orchards, all around
The desolated prospect thrills the soul.

He comes! he comes! in ev'ry breeze the pow'r Of philosophic melancholy comes!

His near approach the sudden-starting tear,
The glowing cheek, the mild dejected air,
The soften'd feature, and the beating heart,
Pierc'd deep with many a virtuous pang, declare.
O'er all the soul his sacred influence breathes!
Inflames imagination; through the breast
Infuses ev'ry tenderness; and far
Beyond dim earth exalts the swelling thought.
Ten thousand thousand fleet ideas, such
As never mingled with the vulgar dream,
Crowd fast into the mind's creative eye.