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XII. A Panegyric on Great-Britain. HEAVENS ! what a goodly, prospect spreads around,

Of hills, and dales, and woods, and lawns, and

fpires,
And glittering towns, and gilded streams, till all
The ftretching landfcape into smoke decays !
Happy Britannia! where the Queen of Arts,
Inspiring vigour, Liberty abroad
Walks, uriconfin'd, even to thg farthelt cots,
And fcatters plenty with unparing hand.
Rich is thy foil, and merciful thy clime;
Thy streams unfailing in the summer's drought ;-
Unmatch'd thy guardian oaks ;. thy valleys float
With golden waves: and on thy mountains flocks
Bleat numberless; while, roving round their fides,
Bellow the blackening herds in lufty droves.
Beneath, thy meadows glow, and rise unquell'd
Against the mower's scythe. On every hand.
Thy villas shine. Thy country teems with wealth ;
and property assures it to the swain,
Pleas’d, and unwearied, in his guarded toil.

Full are thy cities with the sons of Art;
And trade and joy, in every busy street,
Mingling are heard : even Drudgery himself,
As at the car he sweats, or dufty hews
The palace-stone, looks gay. Thy crowded pertso
Where rising maits an endless profpect yield,
With labour burn, and echo to the fhouts-
Of hurry'd failor, as he hearty waves
His last adieu, and loosening every fheet,
Resigns the spreading veffel to the wind.
Bold, firm, and graceful, are thy generous youth,
By hardfhip finew'd, and by danger fird,
Scattering the nations where they go; and first
Or on the listed plain, or stormy seas.-
Mild are thy glories too, as o'er the plans
Of thriving peace thy thoughtful lires preside ; :
In genius, and substantial learning, high;
For every virtue, every worth renowo'd;
Sincere, plain-hearted, hospitable, kind;
Yet, like the mustering thunder, when provok'd,

The

The dread of tyrants, and the sole resource
Of those that under grim oppression groan.

Thy Sons of Glory many! Alfred thine,
In whom the fplendour of heroic war,
And more heroic peace, when govern'd well,
Combine ! whose hallow'd name the Virtues saint, .
And his own Muses love ; the best of kings !
With him thy Edwards and thy Henrys thine,
Names dear to fame; the first who deep imprefs’d
On haughty Gaul the terrour of thy arms,
That awes her genius stilt. In Statesmen thou,
And Patriots, fertile. Thine a steady More,
Who, with a generous, thongh mistaken zeal,
Withstood a brutal tyrant's useful rage ;
Like Cato firm, like Aristides just,
Like rigid Cincinnatus nobly poor,
A dauntless foul erect, who smil'd on death.
A Hampden too is thine, illustrious land !
Wise, strenuous, firm, of unsubmitting soul ;
Who flemm’d the torrent of a downward age
To llavery prone, and bade thee rise again,
In all thy native pomp of freedom bold.
Thine is a Bacon; hapless in his choice ;
Unfit to stand the civil storm of state,
And through the smooth barbarity of courts,
With firm but pliant virtue, forward still
To urge his courte : hin for the studious shade
Kind Nature form’d, deep, comprehensive, clear,
Exact, and elegant; in one rich soul,
Plato, the Stagyrite, and Tully join'd.
Let Newton, pure Intelligence, whom God
To mortals lent to trace his boundless works
From laws sublimely finple, speak thy fame
In all philofophy. For lofty sense,
Creative fancy, and inspection keen
Through the deep windings v: the human heart,
Is not wild Shakespeare thine and Nature's boast?
Is not each great, each ariable Mule
Of claffic

ages in thy Milton met?
A genius universal as his theme;
Astonishing as Chaos, as the bloom
Of blowing Eden fair, as Heaven fublime.

May

May my fong foften, as thy Daughters I,
Britannia, bail! 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, through 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 flight-shaded, and the swelling breast;
The look relistless, piercing to the soul,
And by the soul inform’d, when drest in love
She sits high-smiling in the conscious eye. ,

Island of bliss ! amid the subject seas,
That thunder round thy rocky.coats, set up,
At once the wonder, terrour, and delight
Of distant nations: whose remotest shores
Can soon be shaken by thy naval arm;
Not to be shook thyself, but all assaults
Baffling, as thy hoar cliffs the loud sea-wave.

o Thou! by whose alınighty Nod, the scale
Of empire rises, or alternate falls,
Send forth the saving virtues round the land,
In bright patrol: white Peace, and focial Love;
The tender-looking Charity, intent
On gentle deeds, and shedding tears thro' 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 Industry ; Activity untir'd,
With copious life inform'd, and all awake :
While in the radiant front, fuperiour Thino6
That 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 grcát design.

XIII. Hyme

XIII. Hymn to the Deity, on the Seasons of the Year.
THESE, as they change, ALMIGHTY FATHER, these,

Are but the varied God. The rolling year
Is full of thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring
Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love.
Wide Alush the fields ; the foftening air is balm ;
Echo the mountains round; the forest smiles ;
And every sense, and every heart is joy.
Then comes thy glory in the Summer-months,
With light and heat refulgent. Then thy sun
Shoots full perfe&tion thro the swelling year :
And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks ;
And oft, at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve,
By brooks and groves, in hollow-whispering gales.
Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfin'd,
And spreads a common feast for all that lives.
In Winter, awful Thou ! with clouds and storms
Around thee thrown ; tempeft o'er tempelt roll'd;
Majestic darkness! on the whirlwind's wing
Riding fublime, thou bid'ft the wold adore,
And humblest Nature with thy northern blait.

Mysterious round !" what skill, what force divine,
Deep-felt, in these appear! a fimple train :
Yet so delightful mix'd, with such kind art,
Such beauty and beneficence combin'd;
Shade, unperceiv'd, so foftening into shade;
And all fo forming an harmonious whole ;
That, as they still succeed, they ravish (till.
But, wandering oft with brute unconscious gaze,
Man marks not thee, marks not the mighty hand,
That, ever busy, wheels the filent spheres;
Works in the secret deep; shoots, steaming, thence
The fair profufion that o'erspreads the Spring ;
Flings from the sun direct the flaming day ;
Feeds ev'ry 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 foul,
Beneath the spacious temple of the sky,
In adoration join; and, ardent, raise
One general fong! To him, ye vocal gales,
PL

B. the

Breathe soft, whose Spirit in your freshness breathes :
O talk of him in folitary 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 Thake th' astonish'd world, lift high to heaven
Th’impetuous fong, and say from whom you rage.
His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills;
And let me catch it as I muse along.
Ve headlong torrents, rapid and profound;
Ye lofter foods, that lead the humid maze
Along the vale; and thou, majestic main,
A secret world of wonders in thyself;
Sound his stupendous praise, whose greater voice
Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall.
Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and Alowers,
In mingled clouds to him, whofe fun exalts,
Whofe breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints.
Ye forests bend, ye harvests, wave to bim :
Breathe your ftill fong 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 filver 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 hulhi'd the proftrate world,
While cloud to cloud returns the folemn hymn.
Bleat out afresh, ye hills : ye mofly rocks,
Retain the found: the broad responsive low,
Ye valleys, raise ; for the great Shepherd reigns,
And his unsuffering kingdoin yet will come.
Ye woodlands all, awake; a boundless song,
Burst from the groves : and when the refless day,
Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep,
Sweeteit of birds! sweet Philomela, charm
The listening shades, and teach the night his praise.
Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles;
At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all;

Crowa

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