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 powerful langnage, felt, not heard,

Instructs the fowls of heaven! and through their breasts
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 every purer eye
The informing Author in his works appears:
Chief, lovely Spring! in thee, and thy soft scenes,
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 the infusive force of Spring on Man;
When heaven and earth, as if contending, vie
To raise his being, and serene his soul.
Can he forbear to join the general smile
Of Nature? can fierce passions vex his breast,
While every gale is peace, and every 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, ye generous minds, in whose wide thought, Of all his works, Creative Bounty burns

With warmest beam; and on your open front

And fiberal 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 Heaven, 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 flower 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 power of kings
To purchase. Pure serenity apace

Induces thought, and contemplation still.
By swift degrees the Love of Nature works,
Aud 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, through Hagley-Park thou stray'st,
Thy British Tempe! there along the dale,

With woods o'erbung 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-whispering breeze, the plaint of rills,
That, purling down amid the twisted roots

Which creep around, their dewy murmurs shake
On the sooth'd ear. From these abstracted oft,
You wander through the philosophic world;
Where in bright train continual wonders rise,
Or to the curious or the pious eye.

And oft, conducted by historic truth,

You tread the long extent of backward time;
Planning, with warm benevolence of mind,
And honest zeal, unwarp'd by party-rage,
Britannia's weal; how from the venal gulph
To raise her virtue, and her arts revive:

Or, turning thence thy view, these graver thoughts
The muses charm: while, with sure taste refin'd,
You draw the inspiring breath of ancient song;
Till nobly rises, emulous, thy own.

Perhaps thy lov'd Lucinda shares thy walk,
With soul to thine attun'd. Then nature all
Wears to the lover's eye a look of love;
And all the tumult of a guilty world,
Toss'd by ungenerous passions, sinks away.
The tender heart is animated peace;
And as it pours its copious treasures forth
In varied converse, softening every theme,
You, frequent pausing, turn, and from her eyes,
Where meekened sense, and amiable grace,
And lively sweetness dwell, enraptur'd drink
That nameless spirit of ethereal joy,
Unutterable happiness! which Love
Alone bestows, and on a favour'd few.

Meantime you gain the height, from whose fair brow
The bursting prospect spreads immense around:
And snatch'd o'er hill, and dale, and wood, and lawn,

And verdant field, and dark'ning heath between,
And villages embosom'd soft in trees,

And spiry towns by surging columns mark'd
Of household smoke, your eye excursive roams:
Wide stretching from the Hall, in whose kind haunt
The hospitable genius lingers still,

To where the broken landscape, by degrees,
Ascending, roughens into rigid hills;

O'er which the Cambrian mountains, like far elouds
That skirt the blue horizon, dusky rise.
Flush'd by the spirit of the genial year,
Now from the virgin's cheek a fresher bloom
Shoots, less and less, the live carnation round;
Her lips blush deeper sweets; she breathes of youth;
The shining moisture swells into her eyes,
In brighter flow; her wishing bosom heaves,
With palpitations wild; kind tumults seize
Her veins, and all her yielding soul is love.
From the keen gaze her lover turns away,
Full of the dear extatic power, and sick
With sighing languishment. Ah, then, ye Fair!
Be greatly cautious of your sliding hearts:
Dare not th' infectious sigh; the pleading look,
Downcast, and low, in meek submission drest,
But full of guile. Let not the fervent tongue,
Prompt to deceive, with adulation smooth,
Gain on your purpos'd will. Nor in the bower,
Where woodbines flaunt, and roses shed a couch,
While Evening draws her crimson curtains round,
Trust your soft minutes with betraying Man.
And let th' aspiring youth beware of love,
Of the smooth glance beware; for tis too late,
When on his heart the torrent-softness pours;
Then wisdom prostrate lies, and fading fame
Dissolves in air away; while the fond soul,
Wrapt in gay visions of unreal bliss,

Still paints the illusive form; the kindling grace;
Th' enticing smile; the modest-seeming eye,
Beneath whose beauteous beams, belying heaven,
Lurk searchless cunning, cruelty, and death':
And still, false-warbling in his cheated ear,
Her syren voice, enchanting, draws him on
To guileful shores, and meads of fatal joy.
Een present, in the very lap of love
Inglorious laid, while music flows around,
Perfumes, and oils, and wine, and wanton hours;
Amid the roses fierce Repentance rears
Her snaky crest: a quick-returning pang

Shoots through the conscious heart, where honour still,
And great design, against the oppressive load
Of luxury, by fits, impatient heave.

But absent, what fantastic woes, arous'd,
Rage in each thought, by restless musing fed,
Chill the warm cheek, and blast the bloom of life?
Neglected fortune flies; and sliding swift,
Prone into ruin, fall his scorn'd affairs.

'Tis nought but gloom around the darken'd sun'
Loses his light. The rosy-bosom'd Spring
To weeping Fancy pines; and yon bright arch,
Contracted, bends into a dusky vault.

All nature fades extinct; and she alone
Heard, felt, and seen, possesses every thought,
Fills every sense, and pants in every vein.
Books are but formal dulness, tedious friends;
And sad amid the social band he sits,
Lonely, and inattentive. From his tongue
The unfinished period falls: while, borne away
On swelling thought, his wafted spirit flies
To the vain bosom of his distant fair;"
And leaves the semblance of a lover, fix'd
In melancholy site, with head declin'd,
And love-dejected eyes. Sudden he starts,