While the fair heifer, balmy-breathing, near,
Stands kindling up their rage. The trembling steed,
With this hot impulse seiz'd in ev'ry nerve,
Nor heeds the rein, nor hears the sounding thong;
Blows are not felt; but tossing high his head,
And by the well-known joy to distant plains
Attracted strong, all wild he bursts away;
O'er rocks, and woods, and craggy mountains flies;
And, neighing, on the aerial summit takes
Th'exciting gale; then, steep-descending, cleaves
The headlong torrents foaming down the hills,
E'en where the madness of the straiten'd stream
Turns in black eddies round: such is the force
With which his frantic heart and sinews swell.
Nor undelighted by the boundless Spring
Are the broad monsters of the foaming deep:
From the deep ooze and gelid cavern rous'd,
They flounce and tumble in unwieldy joy.
Dire were the strain, and dissonant, to sing
The cruel raptures of the savage kind:
How by this flame their native wrath sublim'd, They roam, amid the fury of their heart,
The far-resounding waste in fiercer bands,
And growl their horrid loves. But this the theme
I sing, enraptur'd, to the British fair
Forbids, and leads me to the mountain-brow,
Where sits the shepherd on the grassy turf,
Inhaling, healthful, the descending sun.
Around him feeds his many-bleating flock,
Of various cadence; and his sportive lambs,
This way and that convolv'd, in friskful glee,
Their frolicks play, And now the sprightly race
Invites them forth; when swift, the signal giv'n,
They start away, and sweep the massy mound
That runs around the hill; the rampart once
Of iron war, in ancient barb'rous times,
When disunited Britain ever bled,
Lost in eternal broil: ere yet she grew
To this deep-laid indissoluble state,
Where wealth and commerce lift their golden heads; And o'er our labours, liberty and law,
Impartial, watch; the wonder of a world!
What is this mighty breath, ye sages, say, That, in a pow'rful language, felt not heard, Instructs the fowls of heav'n; and thro' their breast These arts of love diffuses? What, but God?
Inspiring God! who boundless spirit all,
And unremitting energy, pervades,
'Adjusts, sustains, and agitates the whole.
He ceaseless works alone; and yet alone
Seems not to work: with such perfection fram'd
Is this complex stupendous scheme of things.
But, though conceal'd, to ev'ry purer eye
Th' informing author in his works appears:
Chief, lovely Spring, in thee, and thy soft
The smiling God is seen; while water, earth,
And air attest his bounty; which exalts
The brute creation to this finer thought,
And annual melts their undesigning hearts
Profusely thus in tenderness and joy.
Still let my song a nobler note assume, And sing th' infusive force of Spring on man. When heav'n and earth, as if contending, vie To raise his being, and serene his soul, Can he forbear to join the gen❜ral smile Of nature? Can fierce passions vex his breast, While ev'ry gale is peace, and ev'ry grove Is melody? Hence! from the bounteous walks Of flowing Spring, ye sordid sons of earth,
Hard, and unfeeling of another's woe;
Or only lavish to yourselves; away!
But come, yegen'rous minds, in whose wide thought,
Of all his works, creative bounty burns
With warmest beam; and on your open front
And lib'ral eye, sits, from his dark retreat
Inviting modest want. Nor, till invok'd
Can restless goodness wait; your active search
Leaves no cold wintry corner unexplor❜d;
Like silent-working heav'n, surprising oft
The lonely heart with unexpected good.
For you the roving spirit of the wind
Blows Spring abroad; for you the teeming clouds
Descend in gladsome plenty o'er the world;
And the sun sheds his kindest rays for you,
Ye flow'r of human race! In these green days,
Reviving sickness lifts her languid head;
Life flows afresh; and young-ey'd health exalts
The whole creation round. Contentment walks
The sunny glade, and feels an inward bliss
Spring o'er his mind, beyond the pow'r of kings
To purchase. Pure serenity apace
Induces thought, and contemplation still.
By swift degrees the love of nature works,
And warms the bosom; till at last sublim'd
To rapture, and enthusiastic heat,
We feel the present Deity, and taste
The joy of God to see a happy world!
These are the sacred feelings of thy heart,
Thy heart inform'd by reason's purer ray,
O Lyttelton, the friend! thy passions thus
And meditations vary, as at large,
Courting the muse, thro' Hagley-park thou stray'st;
Thy British Tempe! There along the dale,
With woods o'erhung, and shagg'd with mossy rocks,
Whence on each hand the gushing waters play,
And down the rough cascade white-dashing fall,
Or gleam in lengthen'd vista through the trees,
You silent steal; or sit beneath the shade
Of solemn oaks, that tuft the swelling mounts
Thrown graceful round by nature's careless hand,
And pensive listen to the various voice
Of ruling peace: the herds, the flocks, the birds,
The hollow-whisp'ring breeze, the plaint of rills,
That, purling down amid the twisted roots
Which creep around, their dewy murmurs shake
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