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There held in holy passion ftill
Forget thyself to marble, till
With a sad leaden downward caft
Thou fix them on the earth as fast :
And join with thee calm Peace, and Quiet,
Spare Fast, that oft with Gods doth diet,
And hears the muses in a ring
Ay round about Jove's altar sing :
And add to these retired Leisure,
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure ;
But first, and chiefest, with thee bring,
Him that yon soars on golden wing,
Guiding the fiery wheeled throne,
The cherub Contemplation ;
And the mute Silence hift along,
'Less Philomel will deign a song,
In her sweetest, fadaeft plight,
Smoothing the rugged brow of Nights
While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke,
Gently o’er th' accustomid oak .
Sweet bird that Mann'st the noise of folly,
Moft musical, most melancholy !
Thee chauntress of the woods among
I woo to hear thy even-song ;
And milling thee, I walk unfeen
On the dry smooth-thaven green,
To behold the wand'ring moon,
Riding near her highest noon,
Like one that had been led aftray
Through the heav'n's wide pathless way,
And oft, as if her head the bow'd ,
Stooping through a fleecy cload.
Oft on a plat of rising ground,
I hear the far off curfeu sound,
Over some wide water'd shore,
Swinging flow with sullen roar ;
Or if the air will not pernii,
Sone itill removed place will fit,
Where glowing embers through the room
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom,
Far from all resort of mirth,
Save the cricket on the hearth,

Or the belman's drousy charm,
To bless the doors from nightly harm :
Or let my lamp at midnight hour
Be seen in some high lonely tow'r,
Where I may oft the Bear,
With thrice.great Hermes, or unsphere
The spirit of Piato to unfold
What worlds, or what vast regions hold
The immortal mind that hath forsook
Her mansion in this Aeshy nook :
And of those Demons that are found
Io fire, air, flood, or under ground,
Whose power hath a true content
With planet, or with element.
Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy
In scepter'd pall come sweeping by,
Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line,
Or the tale of Troy divine,
Or what (though rare) of later age
Ennobled hath the bulkin'd stage.
But, O sad virgin, that thy power
Might raise Musaus from his bower,
Or bid the soul of Orpheus fing
Such notes as, warbled to the Aring,
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek,
And made hell grant what love did seek ;
Or call up him that left half told
The story of Cambuscan bold,
Of Camball, and of Algarfife,
And who had Canace to wife,
That own’d the virtuous sing and glass,
And of the wond'rous horse of brass
On which the Tartar king did ride ;
And if ought elfe great bards beside
In sage and folemn tunes have fung,
Of turnies and of trophies hung,
Of forests, and inchantments drear,
Where more is meant than meets the ear,
Thus, Night, oft fee me in thy pale career,
Till civil suited Morn appear,
Not trickt and flounc's as she was wont
With the Attic boy te hunt,

But kercheft in a comely cloud,
While rocking winds are piping loud,
Or usher'd with a shower itill,
When the guft hath blown his fill,
Ending on the russling leaves
With minute drops from off the caves.
And when the sun begins to Aling
His flaring beams, me, goddess, bring
To arched walks of twilight groves,
And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves,
Of pine, or monumental oak,
Where the rude ax.with heavy stroke
Was never heard the nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt;
There in close covert by some brook,
Where no profaner eye may look,
Hide me from day's garish eye,
While the bee with honied thigh,
That at her flow'ry work doth fing,
And the waters murmuring,
With such consort as they keep
Entice the dewy feather'd Sleep;
And let some strange mysterious dream
Wave at his wings in airy stream
Of lively portraiture display'd,
Softly on my eye-lids laid:
And, as I wake, sweet music breathe
Above, about, or underneath,
Sent by some spirit to mortals good,
Or th' unseen genius of the wood.
But let my dew-feet never fail
To walk the studious cloysters pale,
And love the high-embowed roof,
With antique pillars masly proof,
And storied windows richly dight,
Casting a dim religious light:
There let the pealing organ blow,
To the full-voic'd choir below,
In service high, and anthems clear,
As may with sweetness through mine ear
Diffolve me into extasies,
And bring all heav'n before mine eyes,

And may at last my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The hairy gown, and moffy cell,
Where I may fit and rightly spell
Of every star that heav'n doth fhew,
And every herb that sips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To something like prophetic ftrain.
These pleafures, Melancholy, give,
And I with thee will chuse to live.

These poems are to be admired, as well for their clofe, fignificant, and expreffive descriptions, as for the frequent and beautiful use the poet has made of the figure called Projopopæia; by which he has personified almost every object in his view, raised a great number of pleasing images, and introduced qualities and things inanimate as living and rational beings.

We cannot quit this fubject without taking some notice of that excellent poem, left us by Mr. Thomson, intituled the Seasons; which, notwithstanding some parts of it are didactic, may with propriety be inserted under this head. /

In this work, the author has given us a poetical, philo. sophical, and moral description of the four seasons, viz. Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter.

Under Spring, he has described the season as it usually affects the various parts of nature, ascending from the lower to the higher, and considered the influence of the Spring on inanimate matter, on vegetables, on brute animals, and on man ; after which he concludes with a dissua, five from the wild and irregular. passion of love, and recommends that of a pure and happy kind. The whole is embellished with suitable digressions, and moral reflections ; and wrought up with wonderful art. His Address to hea. ven in favour of the farmer, and what follows in praise of agriculture, is extremely beautiful.

Be gracious, HeAVEN! for now laborious man
Has done his part. Ye fostering breezes, blow
Ye soft’ning dews, ye tender showers, descend !
And temper all, thou world-reviving fun,
Into the perfect year! nor ye who live
In luxury and ease, in pomp and pride,

Think thefe, loft themes unworthy of your ear:
Such themes as these the rural Maro fung
To wide-imperial Rome, in the full height
Of elegance and taste, by Greece refin'd.
In antient times, the sacred plough employ'd
The kings, and awful fathers of mankind :
And some, with whom compar'd your infect-tribes
Are but the beings of a summer's day,
Have held the scale of empire, ruld the storm
Of mighty war ; then, with victorious hand,
Disdaining little delicacies, seiz'd
The plough, and greatly independent liv'd.

His description of a gentle refreshing rain, and of the rainbow is, I think, inimitable.

The north-east spends his rage; he now, shut up
Within his iron cave, th'affusive South
Warms the wide air, and o'er the void of heaven
Breathes the big clouds with vernal Mowers dikent
At first a dusky wreath they seem to rise,
Scarce ftaining ether; but by swift degrees,
In heaps on heaps, the doubling vapour fails
Along the loaded sky, and mingling deep
Sits on th' horizon round a settled gloom.
Not such as wintry-storms on mortals Thed,
Opprefling life; but lovely, gentle, kind,
And full of every hope and every joy,
The wish of nature. Gradual finks the breeze
Into a perfect calm ; that not a breath
Is heard to quiver thro' the closing woods,
Or rufling turn the many-twink'ling leaves
Of aspin tall. Th'uncurling floods, diffus'd
In glassy breadth, seem thro' delusive lapse
Forgetful of their courfe. 'Tis filence all,
And pleasing expectation. Herds and Aocks
Drop the dry sprig, and mute imploring eye
The falling verdure. Hufhd in short suspense
The plumy people streak their wings with oil,
To throw the lucid moisture trickling off ;
And wait th' approaching sign to strike, at once,
Into the general choir. Even mountains, vales,
And forefts feem, impatient, to demand

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