35

O let not, aimed 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, fluttering on the ground!
The pale descending year, yet pleasing
still,

A gentler mood inspires; for now the leaf 40
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 choked, and matted with the dreary
shower,
46

soul!

balm;

Mysterious round! what skill, what force divine,

Deepfelt, in these appear! a simple train, Yet so delightful mixed, with such kind art, Such beauty and beneficence combined: 24 Shade, unperceived, so softening into shade; And all so forming an harmonious whole; That, as they still succeed, they ravish still. But wandering oft, with brute unconscious gaze,

Man marks not thee, marks not the mighty hand,

That, ever-busy, wheels the silent spheres; Works in the secret deep; shoots, steaming, thence

31

The fair profusion that o'erspreads the spring:

Flings from the sun direct the flaming day; Feeds every creature; hurls the tempest forth;

And, as on earth this grateful change revolves,

A HYMN

These, as they change, Almighty Father, these,

Are but the varied God. The rolling year Is full of thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring

Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love.

35

With transport touches all the springs of life.

Nature, attend! join every living soul, Beneath the spacious temple of the sky, In adoration join; and ardent raise One general song! To him, ye vocal gales,

His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills;

And let me catch it as I muse along,

Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound;
Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze
Along the vale; and thou, majestic main, 52
A secret world of wonders in thyself,
Sound his stupendous praise, whose greater
voice

Or bids you roar, or bids your roaring fall. So roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, 56

In mingled clouds to him, whose sun exalts, Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints.

Ye forests, bend, ye harvests, wave to him; Breathe your still song into the reaper's

Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes,

Rivers unknown to song; where first the

sun

Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam Flames on the Atlantic isles, 't is nought to

me;

105

Since God is ever present, ever felt,
In the void waste as in the city full;
And where he vital breathes, there must be
joy.

When even at last the solemn hour shall

come,

And wing my mystic flight to future worlds, I cheerful will obey; there with new powers,

110

Will rising wonders sing. I cannot go
Where universal love not smiles around,
Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns;
From seeming evil still educing good,
And better thence again, and better still, 115
In infinite progression. But I lose
Myself in him, in light ineffable!
Come, then, expressive silence, muse his
praise.
(1730)

THE CASTLE OF INDOLENCE, Book I

O mortal man, who livest here by toil, Do not complain of this thy hard estate; That like an emmet thou must ever moil,