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 liberal eye, fits from his dark retreat.
Inviting modeft want. Nor, till invok'd,
Can restless goodness wait; your active search:
Leaves no cold wintry corner unexplor'd;
Like filent-working Heaven, surprising oft
The lonely heart with unexpected good..
For you the roving fpirit of the wind
Blows spring abroad; for you the teeming cloude
Descend in gladsome plenty o'er the world :
And the sun sheds his kindert
rays
for
you,
Ye flower of human race ! In these green days,
Reviving Sickness lifts her languid head;
Life flows afresh ; and young-eyed Health exalts
The whole creation round. Contentment walks
The funny glade, and feels an inward bliss
Spring o'er his mind, beyond the power of kings
To purchase. Pure ferenity apace
Induces thought, and contemplation till.
By swift degrees the love of nature works,
And warms the bofom : 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..
THOMSON
ON THE WORKS OF GOD. WITH
what an, awful world-revolving power
Were first th' unwieldy planets launch'd along
Th’illimitable void! Thus to remain,
Amid the flux of many thousand years,
That oft has swept the toiling' race of men,
And all their labour'd monuments away,
Firm, unremitting, matchless, in their course;
To the kind-temper'd change of night and day,
And of the seasons ever stealing round,
Minutely faithful: Such TH' ALL PERFECT HAND!
That pois’d, impels, and rules the steady WHOLE.
How shall' I then attempt to sing of HIM!
Who, LIGHT HIMSELF, in uncreated light
Invested deep, dwells awfully retird
From mortal eye, or angel's purer
Whose single smile has from the first of time
Fill'd, overflowing, all tho se lamps of heaven,
That beam for ever thro' the boundless sky:
But should he hide his face, th' astonish'd sun,
And all th' extinguifh'd stars, would loosening reel
Wide from their spheres, and chaos come again.
And yet was every faultering tongue of man,
ALMIGHTY FATHER! silent in thy praise ;
Thy works themfelves would raise a general voice,
Even in the depth of solitary woods
By human foot antrod; proclaim thy power,
And to the choir celestial Thee resound,
Th' eternal cause, fupport, and end of all.
A DESCRIPTION OF THE BRITISH LADIES.
MAX my song foften, as thy daughters I,
Britannia, hail ! for beauty is their own,
The feeling heart, fimplicity of life,
And elegance, and taste : the faultless form,
Shap'd by the hand of harmony; the cheek,
Where the live crimson, thro' the native white,
Soft shooting, o'er the face diffuses bloom,
And every nameless grace; the parted lip,
,
Like the red rose-bud moist with morning-dew,
Breathing delight, and, under flowing jet,
Or funny ringlets, or of circling brown,
The neck Night-shaded, and the swelling breaft;
The look resistless, piercing to the soul,
And by the soul inform’d, when drest in love
She fits high-smiling in the conscious eye.
THOMSON,
ON THE STRENGTH OF GREAT BRITAIN.
SLAND of bliss! amid the subject feas
That thunder round thy rocky coafts, set up
At once the wonder, terror, and delight,
Of diftant nations, whose remoteft shores
Can soon be shaken by thy naval.arm ;
Nor to be shook thyself, but all assaults
Baffling, as thy hoar cliffs the loud sea wave.
O Thou!
0 Thou! by whose almighty nod the scale Of empire rises, or alternate falls, Send forth the saving virtues round the land In bright patrole : white Peace, and social Love; The tender looking Charity, intent On gentle deeds, and shedding tears through smiles; Undaunted Truth, and Dignity of mind; Courage compos'd, and keen ; found Temperance, Healthful in heart and look; clear Chastity, With blushes reddening as she moves along, Disorder'd at the deep regard she draws: Rough Induftry; Activity untir'd With copious life inform’d, and all awake; While in the radiant front, fuperior shines The first paternal virtue, public zeal; Who throws o’er all an equal wide survey, And, ever musing on the common weal, Still labours glorious with some great design.
THOMSON.
ON THE HAPPINESS OF A RURAL LIFE.
OH knew he but his happiness, of men
The happieft he! who far from public rage, Deep in the vale, with a choice few retir'd, Drinks the pure pleasures of the rural life.
What tho' the dome be wanting, whose proud gate, Each morning, vomits out the sneaking crowd Of flatterers false, and in their turn abus’d? Vile intercourse! What tho' the glittering robe
Of
Of every hue reflected light can give,
Or floating loose, or ftiff with mazy gold,
The pride and gaze of fools ! oppress him not?
What tho', from utmoft land and sea purvey'd,
For him each rarer tributary life
Bleeds not, and his insatiate table heaps
With luxury and death? What tho' his bowl
Flames not with costly juice; nor funk in beds,
Oft of gay care, he tosses out the night,
Or melts the thoughtless hours in idle state?
What tho’ he knows not those fantastic joys,
That still amuse the wanton, still deceive;
A face of pleasure, but a heart of pain ;
Their hollow moments undelighted all ?
Sure peace is his ; a solid life, estrang'd
To disappointment, and fallacious hope:
Rich in content, in nature's bounty rich,
In herbs and fruits ; whatever greens the Spring,
When heaven descends in showers, or bends the bough
When Summer reddens, and when Autumn beams;
Or in the wintry glebe whatever lies
Conceal'd, and fattens with the richest fap:
These are not wanting, nor the milky drove,
Luxuriant, spread o'er all the lowing vale ;
Nor bleating mountains, nor the chide of Atreams,
And hum of bees, inviting sleep sincere
Into the guiltless breast, beneath the shade,
Or thrown at large amid the fragrant hay;
Nor aught beside of prospect, grove or song,
Dim grottoes, gleaming lakes, and fountain clear.
Here too dwells simple truth ; plain innocence ;
Unsullied beauty ; found unbroken youth,
Patient
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