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As from their own clear north, in radiant streams, Bright over Europe bursts the Boreal Morn.



The gentle current ; while, illumined wide,
The dewy-skirted clouds imbibe the sun,
And through their lucid veil his softened force
Shed o'er the peaceful world. Then is the time,
For those whom Wisdom and whom Nature charm,
To steal themselves from the degenerate crowd,
And soar above this little scene of things ;
To tread low-thoughted Vice beneath their feet;
To soothe the throbbing passions into peace ;
And woo lone Quiet in her silent walks.

0! is there not some patriot, in whose power That best, that godlike luxury is placed, Of blessing thousands, thousands yet unborn, Through late posterity ? some, large of soul, To cheer dejected industry? to give A double harvest to the pining swain, And teach the laboring hand the sweets of toil ? How, by the finest art, the native robe To weave ; how, white as hyperborean snow, To form the lucid lawn ; with venturous oar How to dash wide the billow ; nor look on, Shamefully passive, while Batavian fleets Defraud us of the glittering, finny swarms, That heave our friths, and crowd upon our shores ; How all-onlivening trade to rouse, and wing The prosperous sail, from every growing port, Uninjured, round the sea-encircled globe ; And thus, in soul united as in name, Bid Britain reign the mistress of the deep ?


LINNETS, AND LARKS. Thus solitary, and in pensive guise, Oft let me wander o'er the russet mead, [heard And through the saddened grove, where scarce is One dying strain, to cheer the woodman's toil. Haply some widowed songster pours his plaint, Far, in faint warblings, through the tawny copse ; While congregated thrushes, linnets, larks, And each wild throat, whose artless strains so late Swelled all the music of the swarming shades, Robbed of their tuneful souls, now shivering sit On the dead tree, a dull, despondent flock; With not a brightness waving o'er their plumes, And naught save chattering discord in their note. 0! let not, aimed from some inhuman eye, The gun the music of the coming year Destroy ; and harmless, unsuspecting harm, Lay the weak tribes a miserable prey, In mingled murder, fluttering on the ground !




Yes, there are such. And, full on thee, Argyle, Her hope, her stay, her darling, and her boast, From her first patriots and her heroes sprung, Thy fond, imploring country turns her eye ; In thee, with all a mother's triumph, sees Her every virtue, every grace combined, Her genius, wisdom, her engaging turn, Her pride of honor, and her courage tried, Calm, and intrepid in the very throat Of sulphurous war, on Tenier's dreadful field. Nor less the palm of peace inwreathes thy brow : For, powerful as thy sword, from thy rich tongue Persuasion flows, and wins the high debate ; While mixed in thee combine the charm of youth, The force of manhood, and the depth of age. Thee, Forbes, too, whom every worth attends, As truth sincere, as weeping friendship kind, Thee, truly generous, and in silence great, Thy country feels through her reviving arts Planned by thy wisdom, by thy soul informed ; And seldom has she known a friend like thee.

The pale, descending year, yet pleasing still, A gentler mood inspires ; for now the leat Incessant rustles from the mournful grove ; Oft startling such as, studious, walk below, And slowly circles through the waving air. But should a quicker breeze amid the boughs Sob, o'er the sky the leafy deluge streams ; Till, choked and matted with the dreary shower, The forest-walks, at every rising gale, Roll wide the withered waste, and whistle bleak. Fled is the blasted verdure of the fields ; And, shrunk into their beds, the flowery race Their sunny robes resign. E'en what remained Of stronger fruits falls from the naked tree; And woods, fields, gardens, orchards, all around The desolated prospect thrills the soul.


But see the fading, many-colored woods, Shado deepening over shade, the country round Imbrown ; a crowded umbrage, dusk, and dun, Of every hue, from wan-declining green To sooty dark. These now the lonesome Muse, Low-whispering, lead into their leaf-strewn walks, And give the Season in its latest view.


MAN, AND VIRTUE. He comes ! he comes ! in every breeze the Power Of Philosophic Melancholy comes ! His near approach the sudden starting tear, The glowing cheek, the mild dejected air, The softened feature, and the beating heart, Pierced deep with many a virtuous pang, declare. O'er all the soul his sacred influence breathes ! Inflames imagination ; through the breast Infuses every tenderness ; and far Beyond dim earth exalts the swelling thought.


Meantime, light shadowing all, a sober calm Fleeces unbounded ether; whose least wave Stands tremulous, uncertain where to turn

Ten thousand thousand fleet ideas, such
As never mingled with the vulgar dream,
Crowd fast into the mind's creative eye.
As fast the correspondent passions rise,
As varied, and as high : Devotion raised
To rapture, and divine astonishment;
The love of Nature unconfined, and, chief,
Of human race ; the large ambitious wish
To make them blest ; the sigh for suffering worth
Lost in obscurity ; the noble scorn
Of tyrant-pride ; the fearless, great resolve ;
The wonder which the dying patriot draws,
Inspiring glory through remotest time ;
The awakened throb for virtue, and for fame ;
The sympathies of love, and friendship dear;
With all the social offspring of the heart.

While thus we talk, and through Elysian vales Delighted rove, perhaps a sigh escapes : What pity, Cobham, thou thy verdant files Of ordered trees shouldst here inglorious range, Instead of squadrons flaming o'er the field, And long embattled hosts ! when the proud foe, The faithless, vain disturber of mankind, Insulting Gaul, has roused the world to war ; When keen, once more, within their bounds to press Those polished robbers, those ambitious slaves,' The British youth would hail thy wise command, Thy tempered ardor, and thy veteran skill.




The western sun withdraws the shortened day ; And humid Evening, gliding o'er the sky, In her chill progress, to the ground condensed The vapors throws. Where creeping waters ooze, Where marshes stagnate, and where rivers wind, Cluster the rolling fogs, and swim along The dusky-mantled lawn. Meanwhile the Moon, Full-orbed, and breaking through the scattered

clouds, Shows her broad visage in the crimsoned east. Turned to the sun direct, her spotted disk, Where mountains rise, umbrageous dales descend, And caverns deep, as optic tube descries, A smaller earth, gives us his blaze again, Void of its fame, and sheds a softer day. Now through the passing cloud she seems to stoop, Now up the pure cerulean rides sublime. Wide the pale deluge floats, and streaming mild O'er the skyed mountain to the shadowy vale, While rocks and foods reflect the quivering gleam, The whole air whitens with a boundless tide Of silver radiance, trembling round the world.

0! bear me then to vast embowering shades, To twilight groves, and visionary vales ; To weeping grottoes, and prophetic glooms; Where angel forms athwart the solemn dusk Tremendous sweep, or seem to sweep along ; And voices more than human, through the void Deep-sounding, seize the enthusiastic ear ! STOWE, THE SEAT OF LORD COBHAM, DESCRIBED. - PITT.


Or is this gloom too much? Then lead, ye powers, That o'er the garden and the rural seat Preside, which shining through the cheerful land In countless numbers blest Britannia sees ; 0, lead me to the wide-extended walks, The fair majestic paradise of Stowe ! Not Persian Cyrus on Ionia's shore E’er saw such sylvan scenes ; such various art By genius fired, such ardent genius tamed By cool judicious art ; that, in the strife, All-beauteous nature fears to be outdone. And there, O Pitt, thy country's early boast, There let me sit beneath the sheltered slopes, Or in that temple' where, in future times, Thou well shalt merit a distinguished name ; And, with thy converse blest, catch the last smiles Of Autumn beaming o'er the yellow woods. While there with thee the enchanted round I walk, The regulated wild, gay Fancy then Will tread in thought the groves of Attic land ; Will from thy standard taste refine her own, Correct her pencil to the purest truth Of nature, or, the unimpassioned shades Forsaking, raise it to the human mind. Or if hereafter she, with juster hand, Shall draw the tragic scene, instruct her, thou, To mark the varied movements of the heart, What every decent character requires, And every passion speaks : 0! through her strain Breathe thy pathetic eloquence, that moulds The attentive senate, charms, persuades, exalts, — Of honest Zeal the indignant lightning throws, And shakes Corruption on her venal throne !

1 The Temple of Virtue, in Stowe Gardens.



But when, half blotted from the sky, her light, Fainting, permits the starry fires to burn With keener lustre through the depth of heaven ; Or near extinct her deadened orb appears, And scarce appears, of sickly, beamless white; Oft, in this season, silent from the north, A blaze of meteors shoots : ensweeping first The lower skics, they all at once converge High to the crown of heaven, and all at once Relapsing quick, as quickly reäscend, And mix, and thwart, extinguish, and renew, All ether coursing in a maze of light.

From look to look, contagious through the crowd, The panic runs, and into wondrous shapes The appearance throws : armies in meet array, Thronged with aerial spears, and steeds of fire ; Till, the long lines of full-extended war In bleeding fight commixed, the sanguine flood

1 To an American, this kind of ribaldry, in which so many of th English poets indulge, seems anything but truth, magnanimity, or manliness. — J.

Rolls a broad slaughter o'er the plains of heaven.
As thus they scan the visionary scene,
On all sides swells the superstitious din,
Incontinent; and busy Frenzy talks
Of blood and battle ; cities overturned,
And late at night in swallowing earthquake sunk,
Or hideous wrapt in fierce ascending flame ;
Of sallow famine, inundation, storm ;
Of pestilence, and every great distress ;
Empires subversed, when ruling fate has struck
The unalterable hour : e'en Nature's self
Is deemed to totter on the brink of time.

Not so the man of philosophic eye,
And inspect sage ; the waving brightness he
Curious surveys, inquisitive to know
The causes, and materials, yet unfixed,
of this appearance beautiful and new.

Lies the still heaving hive ! at evening snatched,
Beneath the cloud of guilt-concealing night,
And fixed o'er sulphur ; while, not dreaming ill,
The happy people, in their waxen cells,
Sat tending public cares, and planning schemes
Of temperance, for Winter poor ; rejoiced
To mark, full flowing round, their copious stores.
Sudden the dark, oppressive steam ascends ;
And, used to milder scents, the tender race,
By thousands, tumble from their honeyed domes,
Convolved, and agonizing in the dust.
And was it, then, for this you roamed the Spring,
Intent from flower to flower ? for this you toiled
Ceaseless the burning summer-heats away?
For this in Autumn searched the blooming waste,
Nor lost one sunny gleam? for this sad fate ?
O man ! tyrannic lord ! how long, how long
Shall prostrate Nature groan beneath your rage,
Awaiting renovation? When obliged,
Must you destroy? of their ambrosial food
Can you not borrow ; and, in just return,
Afford them shelter from the wintry winds ?
Or, as the sharp year pinches, with their own
Again regale them on some smiling day?
See where the stony bottom of their town
Looks desolate, and wild ; with here and there
A helpless number, who the ruined state
Survive, lamenting weak, cast out to death.
Thus a proud city, populous and rich,
Full of the works of peace, and high in joy,
At theatre or feast, or sunk in sleep, –
As late, Palermo, was thy fate, - is seized
By some dread earthquake, and convulsive hurled
Sheer from the black foundation, stench-involved,
Into a gulf of blue sulphureous flame.


Now black, and deep, the night begins to fall, A shade immense! Sunk in the quenching gloom, Magnificent and vast, are heaven and earth. Order confounded lies ; all beauty void ; Distinction lost ; and gay variety One universal blot : such the fair power Of light, to kindle and create the whole. Drear is the state of the benighted wretch, Who then, bewildered, wanders through the dark, Full of pale fancies, and chimeras huge ; Nor visited by one directive ray, From cottage streaming, or from airy hall.




Perhaps impatient as he stumbles on, Struck from the root of slimy rushes, blue, The wildfire scatters round, or gathered trails A length of flame deceitful o'er the moss : Whither decoyed by the fantastic blaze, Now lost and now renewed, he sinks absorbed, Rider and horse, amid the miry gulf : While still, from day to day, his pining wife And plaintive children his return await, In wild conjecture lost. At other times, Sent by the better genius of the night, Innoxious, gleaming on the horse's mane, The meteor sits ; and shows the narrow path, That winding leads through pits of death, or else Instructs him how to take the dangerous ford.



Hence every harsher sight! for now the day, O'er heaven and earth diffused, grows warm, and Infinite splendor ! wide investing all. [high ; How still the breeze ! save what the filmy thread Of dew evaporate brushes from the plain. How clear the cloudless sky! how deeply tinged With a peculiar blue ! the ethereal arch How swelled immense ! amid whose azure throned, The radiant sun how gay! how calm below The gilded earth! the harvest-treasures all Now gathered in, beyond the rage of storms, Sure to the swain ; the circling fence shut up; And instant Winter's utmost rage defied ; While, loose to festive joy, the country round Laughs with the loud sincerity of mirth, (youth, Shook to the wind their cares. The toil-strung By the quick sense of music taught alone, Leaps wildly graceful in the lively dance. Her every charm abroad, the village toast, Young, buxom, warm, in native beauty rich, Darts not unmeaning looks ; and, where her eye Points an approving smile, with double force


The lengthened night elapsed, the morning shines Serene, in all her dewy beauty bright, Unfolding fair the last autumnal day. And now the mounting sun dispels the fog ; The rigid hoar-frost melts before his beam ; And hung on every spray, on every blade Of grass, the myriad dew-drops twinkle round.



Ah, see where, robbed and murdered, in that pit


The cudgel rattles, and the wrestler twines.

Rush into blood, the sack of cities seek ; Age too shines out ; and, garrulous, recounts Unpierced, exulting in the widow's wail, The feats of youth. Thus they rejoice ; nor think The virgin's shriek, and infant's trembling cry. That, with to-morrow's sun, their annual toil Let some, far-distant from their native soil, Begins again the never-ceasing round.

Urged or by want or hardened avarice,

Find other lands beneath another sun. THE HAPPINESS OF A RETIRED COUNTRY LIFE. - LUXURY,

Let this through cities work his eager way, POMP, FLATTERY, AND CARES OF THE CITY LIFE.

By legal outrage and established guile, 0, knew he but his happiness, of men

The social sense extinct ; and that ferment The happiest he! who far from public rage,

Mad into tumult the seditious herd, Deep in the vale, with a choice few retired,

Or melt them down to slavery. Let these Drinks the pure pleasures of the Rural Life. [gate,

Ensnare the wretched in the toils of law, What though the dome be wanting, whose proud Fomenting discord, and perplexing right, Each morning, vomits out the sneaking crowd

An iron race and those of fairer front, Of flatterers false, and in their turn abused ?

But equal inhumanity, in courts, Vile intercourse! What though the glittering robe,

Delusive pomp, and dark cabals, delight; Of every hue reflected light can give,

Wreathe the deep bow, diffuse the lying smile, Or floating loose, or stiff with mazy gold,

And tread the weary labyrinth of state. The pride and gaze of fools, oppress him not ? What though, from utmost land and sea purveyed, THE CONTRASTED PEACE OF RERAL LIFE, - ENJOYMENTS OF For him each rarer tributary life Bleeds not, and his insatiate table heaps

While he, from all the stormy passions free With luxury and death? What though his bowl That restless men involve, hears, and but hears, Flames not with costly juice ; nor sunk in beds,

At distance safe, the human tempest roar, Oft of gay care, he tosses out the night,

Wrapped close in conscious peace. The fall of kings, Or melts the thoughtless hours in idle state ? The rage of nations, and the crush of states, What though he knows not those fantastic joys Move not the man, who, from the world escaped, That still amuse the wanton, still deceive ;

In still retreats and flowery solitudes, A face of pleasure, but a heart of pain ;

To Nature's voice attends, from month to month, Their hollow moments undelighted all ?

And day to day, through the revolving year ;

Admiring, sees her in her every shape ; TRCE HAPPINESS. — AGRICULTURAL PLENTY DESCRIBED. —

Feels all her sweet emotions at his heart ;

Takes what she liberal gives, nor thinks of more. Sure peace is his ; a solid life, estranged

He, when young Spring protrudes the bursting germs, To disappointment, and fallacious hope :

Marks the first bud, and sucks the healthful gale Rich in content, in Nature's bounty rich,

Into his freshened soul ; her genial hours In herbs and fruits ; whatever greens the Spring,

He full enjoys ; and not a beauty blows, When heaven descends in showers ; or bends the

And not an opening blossom breathes in vain. bough,

In Summer he, beneath the living shade, When Summer reddens, and when Autumn beams;

Such as o'er frigid Tempè wont to wave, Or in the wintry glebe whatever lies

Or Hemus cool, reads what the muse, of these, Concealed, and fattens with the richest sap :

Perhaps, has in immortal numbers sung ; These are not wanting ; nor the milky drove,

Or what she dictates writes : and, oft an eye
Luxuriant, spread o'er all the lowing vale ;

Shot round, rejoices in the vigorous year.
Nor bleating mountains ; nor the chide of streams,
And hum of bees, inviting sleep sincere


BOOKS ; IMAGINATION ; FAMILY; CHILDREN ; DANCE AND Into the guiltless breast, beneath the shade,

SONG. - LIFE OF THE ADAMIC, OR GOLDEX AGE. Or thrown at large amid the fragrant hay ;

When Autumn's yellow lustre gilds the world, Nor aught besides of prospect, grove, or song, And tempts the sickled swain into the field, Dim grottoes, gleaming lakes, and fountain clear.

Seized by the general joy, his heart distends Here too dwells simple Truth ; plain Innocence ;

With gentle throes; and, through the tepid gleams Unsullied Beauty ; sound, unbroken Youth,

Deep musing, then he best exerts his song. Patient of labor, with a little pleased ;

E'en Winter wild to him is full of bliss. Health ever blooming ; unambitious Toil ;

The mighty tempest, and the hoary waste, Calm Contemplation, and poetic Ease.

Abrupt and deep, stretched o'er the buried earth, THE SAILOR'S AND SOLDIER'S LIVES CONTRASTED WITH THAT

Awake to solemn thought. At night the skies, OF THE FARMER. THE MONEY-MAKER ; LAWYER ; POLI

Disclosed, and kindled, by refining frost,

Pour every lustre on the exalted eye. Let others brave the flood in quest of gain, A friend, a book, the stealing hours secure, And beat, for joyless months, the gloomy wave. And mark them down for wisdom. With swift wing Let such as deem it glory to destroy

O'er land and sea imagination roams ;



Or truth, divinely breaking on his mind,
Elates his being, and unfolds his powers ;
Or in his breast heroic virtue burns.
The touch of kindred too and love he feels ;
The modest eye, whose beams on his alone
Ecstatic shine ; the little, strong embrace
Of prattling children, twined around his neck,
And emulous to please him, calling forth
The fond parental soul. Nor purpose gay,
Amusement, dance, or song, he sternly scorns ;
For happiness and true philosophy
Are of the social, still, and smiling kind.
This is the life which those who fret in guilt,
And guilty cities, never knew ; the life
Led by primeval ages, uncorrupt,
When angels dwelt, and God Himself, with man !

Snatch me to heaven ; thy rolling wonders there,
World beyond world, in infinite extent,
Profusely scattered o'er the blue immense,
Show me ; their motions, periods, and their laws
Give me to scan ; through the disclosing deep
Light my blind way : the mineral strata there ;
Thrust blooming thence the vegetable world ;
O’er that the rising system, more complex,
of animals ; and, higher still, the mind,
The varied scene of quick-compounded thought,
And where the mixing passions endless shift ;
These ever open to my ravished eye
A search the flight of time can ne'er exhaust!
But if to that unequal, if the blood,
In sluggish streams about my heart, forbid
That best ambition, - under closing shades,
Inglorious, lay me by the lowly brook,
And whisper to my dreams. From Thee begin,
Dwell all on Thee, with Thee conclude my song ;
And let me never, never stray from Thee !


STUDY OF THE NATURAL SCIENCES, AND OF MIND. 0, Nature ! all-sufficient ! over all ! Enrich me with the knowledge of thy works ;

Tusser's "September's Husbandry.'

THRESH seed, and to fanning, September doth cry,
Get plough to the field, and be sowing of rye :
To harrow the ridges, ere ever ye strike,
Is one piece of husbandry Suffolk doth like.
Sow timely thy white wheat, sow rye in the dust,
Lot seed have his longing, let soil have her lust.2 **
But sow it not mixed, to grow so on land,
Lest rye tarry wheat, till it shed as it stand.
Though beans be in sowing but scattered in,
Yet wheat, rye, and peason, I love not too thin :
Sow barley and dredge with a plentiful hand,
Lest weed, stead of seed, overgroweth thy land.
No sooner a sowing, but out by and by,
With mother or boy, that alarum can cry;
And let them be arméd with sling or with bow,
To scare away pigeon, the rook, and the crow.3
Seed sown, draw a furrow, the water to drain,
And dyke up such ends as in harm do remain. *
Saint Michel doth bid thee amend the marsh wall,
The brock and the crab-hole, the foreland and all. **
Now geld, with the gelder, the ram and the bull,
Sew ponds, amend dams, and sell webster thy wool.

1 Striking is the last ploughing before the seed is committed to the ground.

2 That is, adapt yourself to the natures of soils and seeds.

3 Crows destroy insects enough to pay for any temporary depredations, especially if watched during sowing ; pigeons are always destructive.

Out, fruit go and gather, but not in the dew,
With crab and the walnut, for fear of a shrew.
The moon in the wane, gather fruit for to last,
But winter fruit gather when Michel is past.
Fruit gathered too timely will taste of the wood,
Will shrink and be bitter, and seldom prove good :
So fruit that is shaken, and beat off a tree,
With bruising in falling, soon faulty will be.
Now burn up the bees, that ye mind for to drive,
At midsummer drive them, and save them alive ;
Place hive in good air, set southly and warm,
And take, in due season, wax honey and swarm.
Set hive on a plank, not too low by the ground,
Where herb with the flowers may compass it round;
And boards to defend it from north and north-east,
From showers and rubbish, from vermin and beast.
Wife, into thy garden, and set me a plot,
With strawberry roots, of the best to be got :
Such growing abroad, among thorns in the wood,
Well chosen and picked, prove excellent good.
The barberry, respis, and gooseberry, too,
Look now to be planted, as other things do :
The gooseberry, respis, and roses, all three,
With strawberries under them, trimly agree.

Now pluck up thy hemp, and go beat out the seed, And afterward water it, as yo see need.

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