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Riding sublime, Thou bidd'st the world adore,
And humblest Nature with Thy northern blast.

Mysterious round! what skill, what force divine,
Deep-felt, in these appear! a simple train,
Yet so delightful mix'd, with such kind art,
Such beauty and beneficence combin’d;
Shade, unperceiv’d, so softening into shade ;
And all so forming an harmonious whole ;
That, as they still succeed, they ravish still.
But wand'ring oft, with brute unconscious gaze,
Man marks not Thee, marks not the mighty Hand
That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres; 80
Works in the secret deep; shoots, steaming, thence
The fair profusion that o'erspreads the Spring ;
Flings from the sun direct the flaming day ;
Feeds every creature; hurls the tempest forth;
And, as on earth this grateful change revolves,
With transport touches all the springs of life.

Nature, attend ! join every living soul, Beneath the spacious temple of the sky, In adoration join, and, ardent, raise One general song! To Him, ye vocal gales, Breathe soft, whose SPIRIT in your freshness breathes : Oh, talk of Him in solitary glooms, . Where, o'er the rock, the scarcely waving pine Fills the brown shade with a religious awe! And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar, Who shake th' astonish'd world, lift high to heav'n Th’impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills ; And let me catch it as I muse along. Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound; Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze Along the vale ; and thou, majestic main,

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A secret world of wonders in thyself,

53 Sound His stupendous praise ; whose greater voice Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall. Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flow'rs, In mingled clouds to Him, whose sun exalts, Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints. Ye forests, bend, ye harvests, wave, to Him; Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart, As home he goes beneath the joyous moon. Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth asleep Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams, Ye constellations, while your angels strike, Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre. Great source of day! best image here below Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide, From world to world, the vital ocean round ! On Nature write with every beam His praise. The thunder rolls : be hush'd the prostrate world, 70 While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn. Bleat out afresh, ye hills ; ye mossy rocks, Retain the sound; the broad responsive low, Ye valleys, raise ; for the GREAT SHEPHERD reigns, And His unsuffering kingdom yet will come. Ye woodlands all, awake: a boundless song Burst from the groves; and when the restless day, Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep, Sweetest of birds, sweet Philomela, charm The listening shades, and teach the night His praise ! Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles, 81 At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all, Crown the great hymn! In swarming cities vast, Assembled men, to the deep organ join The long-resounding voice, oft breaking clear, At solemn pauses, through the swelling bass ;


And, as each mingling flame increases each,
In one united ardour rise to heav’n.
Or if you rather choose the rural shade,
And find a fane in every sacred grove,
There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay,
The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre,
Still sing the GOD OF SEASONS, as they roll.
For me, when I forget the darling theme,
Whether the blossom blows, the Summer ray
Russets the plain, inspiring Autumn gleams,
Or Winter rises in the black’ning east,
Be my tongue mute, my Fancy paint no more,
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat!

Should Fate command me to the farthest verge
Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes,
Rivers unknown to song; where first the sun
Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam
Flames on th' Atlantic isles ; 'tis naught to me;
Since God is ever present, ever felt,
In the void waste as in the city full;
And where He vital breathes, there must be joy.
When even at last the solemn hour shall come,
And wing my mystic flight to future worlds,
I cheerful will obey; there, with new powi’rs,
Will rising wonders sing. I cannot go
Where UNIVERSAL LOVE not smiles around,
Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their sons ;
From seeming evil still educing good,
And better thence again, and better still,
In infinite progression.- But I lose
Myself in Him, in Light ineffable !
Come, then, expressive Silence, muse His praise !

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A Poem, in five Parts.



The following Poem is thrown into the form of a Poetical Vision. Its scene,

the ruins of ancient Rome. The Goddess of Liberty, who is supposed to speak through the whole, appears, characterised as British Liberty. Gives a view of ancient Italy, and particularly of republican Rome, in all her magnificence and glory. This contrasted by modern Italy; its valleys, mountains, culture, cities, people: the difference appearing strongest in the capital city, Rome. The ruins of the great works of Liberty more magnificent than the borrowed pomp of Oppression ; and from them revived Sculpture, Painting, and Architecture. The old Romans apostrophised with regard to the several melancholy changes in Italy : Horace, Tully, and Virgil, with regard to their Tibur, Tusculum, and Naples. That once finest and most ornamented part of Italy, all along the coast of Baiæ, how changed. This desolation of Italy applied to Britain. Address to the Goddess of Liberty, that she would deduce from the first ages her chief establishments, the description of which constitute the subject of the following parts of this Poem. She assents, and commands what she says to be sung in Britain ; whose happiness, arising from freedom and a limited monarchy, she marks. An immediate Vision attends, and paints her words. Invocation.

O MY lamented TALBOT! while with thee
The Muse gay rov'd the glad Hesperian round,
And drew th' inspiring breath of ancient arts ;
Ah! little thought she her returning verse

Should sing our darling subject to thy Shade.
And does the mystic veil from mortal beam
Involve those eyes where every virtue smil'd,
And all thy Father's candid spirit shone ?-
The light of reason, pure, without a cloud;
Full of the generous heart, the mild regard ;
Honour disdaining blemish, cordial faith,
And limpid truth, that looks the very soul.
But to the death of mighty nations turn
My strain ; be there absorb'd the private tear.

Musing I lay, warm from the sacred walks,
Where at each step imagination burns;
While, scatter'd wide around, awful and hoar,
Lies, a vast monument, once-glorious Rome,
The tomb of empire ! ruins that efface
Whate'er of finish'd modern pomp can boast ! 20

Snatch'd by these wonders to that world where thought Unfetter'd ranges, Fancy's magic hand Led me anew o'er all the solemn scene, Still in the mind's pure eye more solemn dress'd ; When straight, methought, the fair majestic Pow'r Of Liberty appear'd. Not, as of old, Extended in her hand the cap, and rod, Whose slave-enlarging touch gave double life; But her bright temples bound with British oak, And naval honours nodded on her brow. Sublime of port : loose o'er her shoulder flow'd Her sea-green robe, with constellations gay. An island-goddess now; and her high care The Queen of Isles, the mistress of the main. My heart beat filial transport at the sight; And, as she mov'd to speak, th' awaken'd Muse Listen'd intense. A while she look'd around,

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