COME, gentle Spring, ethereal Mildness, come, And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud, While music wakes around, veil'd in a shower Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend. And see where surly Winter passes off, Far to the north, and calls his ruffian blasts: His blasts obey, and quit the howling hill, The shatter'd forest, and the ravaged vale; While softer gales succeed, at whose kind touch, Dissolving snows in livid torrents lost,
The mountains lift their green heads to the sky. As yet the trembling year is unconfirm'd, And Winter oft at eve resumes the breeze, Chills the pale morn, and bids his driving sleets Deform the day delightless: so that scarce The bittern knows his time, with bill engulf'd To shake the sounding marsh; or from the shore The plovers when to scatter o'er the heath, And sing their wild notes to the listening waste.
At last from Aries rolls the bounteous Sun, And the bright Bull receives him. Then no more The' expansive atmosphere is cramp'd with cold; But, full of life and vivifying soul,
Lifts the light clouds sublime, and spreads them thin, Fleecy and white, o'er all-surrounding heaven.
Forth fly the tepid airs; and unconfined,
Unbinding earth, the moving softness strays. Joyous, the' impatient husbandman perceives
Relenting Nature, and his lusty steers
Drives from their stalls, to where the well-used plough Lies in the furrow, loosen'd from the frost.
There, unrefusing, to the harness'd yoke
They lend their shoulder, and begin their toil, Cheer'd by the simple song and soaring lark. Meanwhile incumbent o'er the shining share The master leans, removes the' obstructing clay, Winds the whole work, and sidelong lays the glebe.
White through the neighbouring fields the sower stalks, With measured step; and liberal throws the grain Into the faithful bosom of the ground:
The harrow follows harsh, and shuts the scene.
Be gracious, Heaven! for now laborious man Has done his part. Ye fostering breezes, blow! Ye softening dews, ye tender showers, descend! And temper all, thou world-reviving Sun, Into the perfect year! Nor ye who live In luxury and ease, in pomp and pride, Think these lost themes unworthy of your ear: Such themes as these the rural Maro sung To wide-imperial Rome, in the full height Of elegance and taste, by Greece refined. In ancient times, the sacred plough employ'd The kings, and awful fathers of mankind: And some, with whom compared your insect-tribes Are but the beings of a summer's day,
Have held the scale of empire, ruled the storm Of mighty war; then, with unwearied hand, Disdaining little delicacies, seized
The plough, and, greatly independent, scorn'd All the vile stores Corruption can bestow.
Ye generous Britons, venerate the plough; And o'er your hills, and long withdrawing vales, Let Autumn spread his treasures to the Sun, Luxuriant and unbounded: as the Sea, Far through his azure turbulent domain, Your empire owns, and from a thousand shores Wafts all the pomp of life into your ports; So with superior boon may your rich soil, Exuberant, Nature's better blessings pour O'er every land, the naked nations clothe, And be the' exhaustless granary of a world! Nor only through the lenient air this change, Delicious, breathes; the penetrative Sun, His force deep-darting to the dark retreat Of vegetation, sets the steaming Power At large, to wander o'er the vernant Earth, In various hues; but chiefly thee, gay Green! Thou smiling Nature's universal robe! United light and shade! where the sight dwells With growing strength, and ever-new delight.
From the moist meadow to the wither'd hill,
Led by the breeze, the vivid verdure runs, And swells, and deepens, to the cherish'd eye. The hawthorn whitens: and the juicy groves Put forth their buds, unfolding by degrees, Till the whole leafy forest stands display'd, In full luxuriance, to the sighing gales; Where the deer rustle through the twining brake, And the birds sing conceal'd.
At once array'd In all the colours of the flushing year,
By Nature's swift and secret-working hand, The garden glows, and fills the liberal air
With lavish fragrance; while the promised fruit Lies yet a little embryo, unperceived,
Within its crimson folds.
Buried in smoke, and sleep, and noisome damps,
Oft let me wander o'er the dewy fields,
Where freshness breathes, and dash the trembling drops From the bent bush, as through the verdant maze Of sweet-brier hedges I pursue my walk;
Or taste the smell of dairy; or ascend Some eminence, Augusta, in thy plains, And see the country, far diffused around,
One boundless blush, one white-empurpled shower Of mingled blossoms; where the raptured eye Hurries from joy to joy, and, hid beneath The fair profusion, yellow Autumn spies.
If, brush'd from Russian wilds, a cutting gale Rise not, and scatter from his humid wings The clammy mildew; or, dry-blowing, breathe Untimely frost; before whose baleful blast The full-blown Spring through all her foliage shrinks, Joyless and dead, a wide-dejected waste. For oft, engender'd by the hazy north, Myriads on myriads, insect armies waft Keen in the poisoned breeze; and wasteful eat Through buds and bark, into the blacken'd core, Their eager way. A feeble race! yet oft
The sacred sons of vengeance! on whose course Corrosive famine waits, and kills the year.
Be patient, swains; these cruel-seeming winds Blow not in vain. Far hence they keep repress'd Those deepening clouds on clouds, surcharged with rain,
That, o'er the vast Atlantic hither borne,
In endless train, would quench the summer-blaze, And, cheerless, drown the crude unripen'd year.
The north-east spends his rage; he now shut up Within his iron caves, the' effusive south
Warms the wide air, and o'er the void of heaven Breathes the big clouds with vernal showers distent. At first a dusky wreath they seem to rise, Scarce staining ether; but by swift degrees, In heaps on heaps, the doubling vapour sails Along the loaded sky, and mingled deep Sits on the' horizon round a settled gloom: Not such as wintry storms on mortals shed, Oppressing life; but lovely, gentle, kind, And full of every hope, and every joy, The wish of Nature.
Gradual sinks the breeze Into a perfect calm; that not a breath Is heard to quiver through the closing woods, Or rustling turn the many-twinkling leaves Of aspen tall. The' uncurling floods, diffused In glassy breadth, seem through delusive lapse Forgetful of their course. 'Tis silence all, And pleasing expectation. Herds and flocks Drop the dry sprig, and, mute-imploring, eye The falling verdure
Hush'd in short suspense, The plumy people streak their wings with oil, To throw the lucid moisture trickling off;
And wait the' approaching sign to strike, at once, Into the general choir. Ev'n mountains, vales, And forests seem, impatient, to demand The promised sweetness. Man superior walks Amid the glad creation, musing praise, And looking lively gratitude.
The clouds consign their treasures to the fields; And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow, In large effusion, o'er the freshen'd world. The stealing shower is scarce to patter heard, By such as wander through the forest walks, Beneath the' umbrageous multitude of leaves. But who can hold the shade, while Heaven descends
In universal bounty, shedding herbs,
And fruits, and flowers, on Nature's ample lap? Swift fancy fired anticipates their growth; And, while the milky nutriment distils, Beholds the kindling country colour round. Thus all day long the full-distended clouds Indulge their genial stores, and well-shower'd earth Is deep-enrich'd with vegetable life;
Till, in the western sky, the downward Sun Looks out, effulgent, from amid the flush Of broken clouds, gay-shifting to his beam. The rapid radiance instantaneous strikes The' illumined mountain, through the forest streams, Shakes on the floods, and, in a yellow mist Far smoking o'er the' interminable plain, In twinkling myriads lights the dewy gems.
Moist, bright, and green, the landscape laughs around. Full swell the woods; their every music wakes, Mix'd in wild concert with the warbling brooks Increased, the distant bleatings of the hills, The hollow lows responsive from the vales, Whence blending all the sweeten'd zephyr springs. Meantime, refracted from yon eastern cloud, Bestriding Earth, the grand ethereal bow Shoots up immense; and every hue unfolds, In fair proportion running from the red, To where the violet fades into the sky. Here, awful Newton, the dissolving clouds Form, fronting on the Sun, thy showery prism, And to the sage-instructed eye unfold
The various twine of light, by thee disclosed From the white mingling maze.
He wondering views the bright enchantment bend, Delightful, o'er the radiant fields, and runs
To catch the falling glory; but amazed Beholds the' amusive arch before him fly, Then vanish quite away. Still night succeeds, A soften'd shade, and saturated earth Awaits the morning-beam, to give to light, Raised through ten thousand different plastic tubes, The balmy treasures of the former day.
Then spring the living herbs, profusely wild, O'er all the deep-green earth, beyond the power
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