And lose them in each other, as appears In every bud that blows? I fancy, then, Unequal fails beneath the pleasing task,
Ah, what shall language do? ah, where find words Tinged with so many colours; and whose power, To life approaching, may perfume my lays
With that fine oil, those aromatic gales,
That inexhaustive flow.continual round?
Yet, though successless, will the toil delight. Come then, ye virgins and ye youths whose hearts Have felt the raptures of refining love; And thou, Amanda, come, pride of my song! Formed by the Graces, loveliness itself!
Come with those downcast eyes, sedate and sweet, Those looks demure, that deeply pierce the soul- Where, with the light of thoughtful reason mixed, Shines lively fancy, and the feeling heart: O come! and while the rosy-footed May Steals blushing on, together let us tread
The morning dews, and gather in their prime Fresh-blooming flowers, to grace thy braided hair, And thy loved bosom that improves their sweets. See, where the winding vale its lavish stores, Irriguous, spreads. See, how the lily drinks The latent rill, scarce oozing through the grass, Of growth luxuriant; or the humid bank, In fair profusion, decks. Long let us walk, Where the breeze blows from yon extended field Of blossomed beans. Arabia cannot boast
A fuller gale of joy than, liberal, thence
Breathes through the sense, and takes the ravished soul. Nor is the mead unworthy of thy foot,
Full of fresh verdure, and unnumbered flowers, The negligence of Nature, wide and wild; Where, undisguised by mimic Art, she spreads Unbounded beauty to the roving eye.
Here their delicious task the fervent bees, In swarming millions, tend around, athwart, Through the soft air the busy nations fly, Cling to the bud, and with inserted tube Suck its pure essence, its ethereal soul; And oft, with bolder wing, they soaring dare The purple heath, or where the wild-thyme grows, And yellow load them with the luscious spoil. At length the finished garden to the view. Its vistas opens, and its alleys green.
Snatched through the verdant maze, the hurried eye Distracted wanders: now the bowery walk Of covert close, where scarce a speck of day Falls on the lengthened gloom, protracted sweeps ; Now meets the bending sky; the river now Dimpling along, the breezy-ruffled lake, The forest darkening round, the glittering spire, The ethereal mountain, and the distant main. But why so far excursive? when at hand, Along these blushing borders, bright with dew, And in yon mingled wilderness of flowers, Fair-handed Spring unbosoms every grace : Throws out the snowdrop and the crocus first; The daisy, primrose, violet darkly blue,
And polyanthus of unnumbered dyes;
The yellow wallflower, stained with iron brown; And lavish stock that scents the garden round ; From the soft wing of vernal breezes shed, Anemones; auriculas, enriched
With shining meal o'er all their velvet leaves; And full ranunculas, of glowing red.
Then comes the tulip-race, where beauty plays Her idle freaks: from family diffused To family, as flies the father-dust,
The varied colours run; and, while they break On the charmed eye, the exulting florist marks, With secret pride, the wonders of his hand. No gradual bloom is wanting; from the bud, First-born of Spring, to Summer's musky tribes: Nor haycinths, of purest virgin white, Low-bent, and blushing inward; nor jonquils, Of potent fragrance; nor narcissus fair, As o'er the fabled fountain hanging still; Nor broad carnations; nor gay-spotted pinks; Nor, showered from every bush, the damask-rose. Infinite numbers, delicacies, sinells,
With hues on hues expression cannot paint, The breath of Nature, and her endless bloom. Hail! Source of Being! Universal Soul Of heaven and earth! Essential Presence, hail! To Thee I bend the knee; to Thee my thoughts, Continual, climb; who, with a master-hand, Hast the great whole into perfection touched. By Thee the various vegetative tribes,
Wrapt in a filmy net, and clad with leaves, Draw the live ether, and imbibe the dew. By Thee disposed into congenial soils, Stands each attractive plant, and sucks, and swells The juicy tide; a twining mass of tubes. At Thy command the vernal sun awakes The torpid sap, detruded to the root By wintry winds, that now in fluent dance, And lively fermentation, mounting, spreads All this innumerous-coloured scene of things. As rising from the vegetable world
My theme ascends, with equal wing ascend, My panting muse; and hark, how loud the woods Invite you forth in all your gayest trim.
Lend me your song, ye nightingales! oh pour The mazy-running soul of melody
Into my varied verse! while I deduce,
From the first note the hollow cuckoo sings, The symphony of Spring, and touch a theme Unknown to fame-the passion of the groves.
When first the soul of love is sent abroad, Warm through the vital air, and on the heart Harmonious seizes, the gay troops begin,
In gallant thought, to plume the painted wing; And try again the long-forgotten strain, At first faint-warbled. But no sooner grows The soft infusion prevalent, and wide, Than, all alive, at once their joy o'erflows In music unconfined. Up springs the lark, Shrill-voiced and loud, the messenger of morn:
Ere yet the shadows fly, he mounted sings Amid the dawning clouds, and from their haunts Calls up the tuneful nations. Every copse Deep-tangled, tree irregular, and bush Bending with dewy moisture, o'er the heads. Of the coy choristers that lodge within, Are prodigal of harmony. The thrush And woodlark, o'er the kind-contending throng Superior heard, run through the sweetest length Of notes; when listening Philomela deigns To let them joy, and purposes, in thought Elate, to make her night excel their day. The blackbird whistles from the thorny brake; The mellow bullfinch answers from the grove; Nor are the linnets, o'er the flowering furze Poured out profusely, silent: joined to these Innumerous songsters, in the freshening shade Of new-sprung leaves, their modulations mix Mellifluous. The jay, the rook, the daw, And each harsh pipe, discordant heard alone, Aid the full concert; while the stock dove breathes A melancholy murmur through the whole.
'Tis love creates their melody, and all
This waste of music is the voice of love; That even to birds and beasts the tender arts
Of pleasing teaches. Hence the glossy kind Try every winning way inventive love
Can dictate, and in courtship to their mates Pour forth their little souls. First, wide around, With distant awe, in airy rings they rove,
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