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
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;
The British Tempé! there along the dale,

With woods o'er-hung, 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 rural peace: The herds and 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 gulf
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 th' 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, Tost 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 meeken'd 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 darkening 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 clouds
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 ecstatic 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 th' 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 siren-voice, enchanting, draws him on
To guileful shores, and meads of fatal joy.
E'en 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 thro' the conscious heart; where honour still, And great design, against th' 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 arck,
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
Th' unfinish'd 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,
Shook from his tender trance, and restless runs
To glimmering shades, and sympathetic glooms;
Where the dun umbrage o'er the falling stream,
Romantic, hangs; there through the pensive dusk
Strays, in heart-thrilling meditation lost,
Indulging all to love: Or on the bank

Thrown, amid drooping lilies, swells the breeze With sighs unceasing, and the brook with tears. Thus in soft anguish he consumes the day, Nor quits his deep retirement, till the Moon Peeps through the chambers of the fleecy east, Enlightened by degrees, and in her train

Leads on the gentle hours; then forth he walks, Beneath the trembling languish of her beam,