Mix'd in wild Confort with the warbling Brooks
Increas'd, th' unnumber'd Bleatings of the Hills,
The hollow Lows refponfive from the Vales,
Whence blending all the sweeten'd Zephyr springs.
Mean-time refracted from yon Eastern Cloud,
Beftriding Earth, the grand ætherial Bow
Shoots up immenfe! and every Hue unfolds,
In fair Proportion, running from the Red,
To where the Violet fades into the Sky.
Here, mighty Newton, the diffolving Clouds
Are, as they scatter round, thy numerous Prism,
Untwisting to the Philofophic Eye
The various Twine of Light, by Thee purfu'd
Thro' all the mingling Maze. Not so the Swain,
He wond'ring views the bright Enchantment bend,
Delightful, o'er the radiant Fields, and runs
To catch the falling Glory, but amaz'd
Beholds th'amufive Arch before him fly,
Then vanifh quite away. Still Night fucceeds,
A foften'd Shade; and faturated Earth
Awaits the Morning Beam, to give again,
Tranfmuted foon by Nature's Chymistry,
The blooming Bleffings of the former Day.
THEN fpring the living Herbs, profufely wild O'er all the deep-green Earth, beyond the Power
Of Botanist to number up their Tribes ;
Whether he fteals along the lonely Dale,
In filent Search; or thro' the Forest, rank
With what the dull incurious Weeds account,
Burfts his blind Way; or climbs the Mountain-Rock,
Fir'd by the nodding Verdure of its Brow.
With such a lib'ral Hand has Nature flung
Their feeds abroad, blown them about in winds,
Innumerous mix'd them with the nurfing Mold,
The moiftning Current, and prolific Rain.
BUT who their virtues can declare? who pierce
With holy Eye into these fecret Stores
Of Life, and Health, and Joy? The Food & Man
While yet he liv'd in Innocence, and told
A Length of golden Years, unflefh'd in Blood,
A Stranger to the Savage Arts of Life,
Death, Rapine, Carnage, Surfeit, and Disease,
The Lord, and not the Tyrant of the World.
THEN the glad Morning wak'd the gladden'd Race Of uncorrupted Men, nor blufh'd to fee
The Sluggard fleep beneath her facred Beam.
For their light Slumbers gently fum'd away,
And up they rofe as vig'rous as the Sun,
Or to the Culture of the willing Glebe,
Or to the chearful Tendance of the Flock.
Mean-time the Song went round; and Dance, and
Wisdom, and friendly Talk fucceffive stole
Their Hours away. While in the rofy Vale
Love breath'd his Infant-Sighs, from Anguish free,
Fragrant with Bliss, and only wept for Joy.
Nor yet injurious A&t, nor furly Deed
Was known among these happy Sons of Heaven ;
For Reason and Benevolence were Law..
Harmonious Nature too look'd fmiling on,
Clean fhone the Skies, cool'd with eternal Gales,
And balmy Spirit all. The youthful Sun
Shot his best Rays; and ftill the gracious Clouds
Drop'd Fatnefs down; as o'er the fwelling Mead
The Herds and Flocks commixing play'd fecure.
Which when, emergent from the gloomy Wood,
The glacing Lion faw, his horrid Heart
Was meeken'd, and he join'd his fullen Joy.
For Mufick held the whole in perfect peace:
Soft figh'd the Flute; the tender Voice was heard Warbling the joyous Heart; the Woodlands round Apply'd their Quire; and Winds and Waters flow'd In Confonance. ---Such were these Prime of Days.
THIS to the Poets gave the golden Age;
When, as they fung in Allegoric Phrafe,
The Sailor-Pine had not the Nations yet
In Commerce mix'd; for every Country teem'd
With every Thing. Spontaneous Harvests way'd
Still in a Sea of yellow Plenty round.
The Forest was the Vineyard, where untaught
To climb, unprun'd, and wild, the juicy Grape
Burft into Floods of Wine. The knotted Oak
Shook from his Boughs the long transparent Streams
Of Honey, creeping thro' the matted Grafs.
Th' uncultivated Thorn a ruddy Shower
Of Fruitage shed, on fuch as fat below,
In blooming Eafe, and from brown Labour free,
Save what the copious Gathering, grateful, gave.
The Rivers foam'd with Nectar; or diffuse,
Silent, and foft, the milky Maze devolv'd.
Nor had the fpongy, full-expanded Fleece
Yet drunk the Tyrian Die. The stately Ram
Shone thro' the Mead, in native Purple clad,
Or milder Saffron and the dancing Lamb
The vivid Crimfon to the Sun disclos'd.
Nothing had Power to hurt; the favage Soul,
Yet untransfus'd into the Tyger's Heart,
Burn'd not his Bowels, nor his gamefome Paw
Drove on the fleecy Partners of his Play:
While from the flowery Brake the Serpent roll'd
His fairer Spires, and play'd his pointless Tongue.
But now whate'er those gaudy Fables meant,
And the white Minutes that they fhadow'd out,
Are found no more amid these Iron Times,
Thefe Dregs of Life! in which the Human Mind
Has loft that Harmony ineffable,
Which forms the Soul of Happiness; and all
Is off the Poife within; the Paffions all
Have burft their Bounds; and Reafon half extinct,
Or impotent, or elfe approving, fees
The foul Disorder. Anger ftorms at large,
Without an equal Cause; and fell Revenge
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