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May my fong foften, as thy Daughters I, Britannia, hail! for beauty is their own, The feeling heart, fimplicity of life,

And elegance, and tafte: the faultlefs form,
Shap'd by the hand of harmony; the cheek,
Where the live crimson, through the native white
Soft-fhooting, o'er the face diffufes bloom,
And every nameless grace; the parted lip,
Like the red rofe-bud moist with morning dew,
Breathing delight; and, under flowing jet,
Or funny ringlets, or of circling brown,
The neck flight-fhaded, and the fwelling breast;
The look refiftlefs, piercing to the foul,
And by the foul inform'd, when drest in love
She fits high-fmiling in the confcious eye.
Ifland of blifs! amid the fubject feas,
That thunder round thy rocky coafts, fet up,
At once the wonder, terrour, and delight
Of distant nations: whose remotest shores
Can foon be fhaken by thy naval arm;
Not to be fhook thyfelf, but all affaults
Baffling, as thy hoar cliffs the loud fea-wave.

O Thou! by whofe almighty Nod, the scale
Of empire rifes, or alternate falls,

Send forth the faving virtues round the land,
In bright patrol: white Peace, and focial Love;
The tender-looking Charity, intent

On gentle deeds, and fhedding tears thro' fmiles
Undaunted Truth, and Dignity of mind;

Courage compos'd, and keen; found Temperance,
Healthful in heart and look; clear Chastity,
With blushes reddening as fhe moves along,
Disorder'd at the deep regard fhe draws;
Rough Industry; Activity untir'd,
With copious life inform'd, and all awake:
While in the radiant front, fuperiour fhines
That firft paternal virtue, Public Zeal;
Who throws o'er all an equal wide furvey,
And, ever mufing on the common weal,
Still labours glorious with feme grcát design.

XIII. Hymn

XIII. Hymn to the Deity, on the Seasons of the Year. THESE, as they change, ALMIGHTY FATHER, thefe, Are but the varied God. The rolling year Is full of thee. Forth in the pleafing Spring Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love. Wide flush the fields; the foftening air is balm; Echo the mountains round; the forest smiles; And every fenfe, and every heart is joy. Then comes thy glory in the Summer-months, With light and heat refulgent. Then thy fun Shoots full perfection thro' the fwelling 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 fhines in Autumn unconfin'd, And spreads a common feast for all that lives. In Winter, awful Thou! with clouds and ftorms Around thee thrown ; tempeft o'er tempeft roll'd; Majestic darkness! on the whirlwind's wing Riding fublime, thou bid'ft the weld adore, And humbleft Nature with thy northern blast. Mysterious round! what fill, what force divine, Deep-felt, in these appear! a fimple train: Yet fo delightful mix'd, with fuch kind art, Such beauty and beneficence combin'd; Shade, unperceiv'd, fo foftening into fhade; And all fo forming an harmonious whole; That, as they ftill fucceed, they ravish still. But, wandering oft with brute unconfcious gaze, Man marks not thee, marks not the mighty hand, That, ever bufy, wheels the filent spheres; Works in the fecret deep; fhoots, fteaming, thence The fair profufion that o'erfpreads the Spring; Flings from the fun direct the flaming day ; Feeds ev'ry creature; hurls the tempeft forth And, as on Earth this grateful change revolves, With tranfport touches all the fprings of life. Nature, attend! Join every living foul, Beneath the fpacious temple of the sky, In adoration join; and, ardent, raise One general fong! To him, ye vocal gales,

R

Breathe

Breathe foft, whofe Spirit in your freshness breathes :
O talk of him in folitary glooms!

Where, o'er the rock, the fcarcely waving pine
Fills the brown fhade with a religious awe.
And ye, whofe bolder note is heard afar,

Who shake th' aftonish'd world, lift high to heaven
Th' impetuous fong, and fay from whom you rage.
His praffe, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills;
And let me catch it as I mufe along.

Ve headlong torrents, rapid and profound;
Ye fofter floods, that lead the humid maze
Along the vale; and thou, majestic main,
A fecret world of wonders in thyself;
Sound his ftupendous praife, whofe greater voice
Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall.

Soft roll your incenfe, herbs, and fruits, and flowers,
In mingled clouds to him, whofe fun exalts,
Whofe breath perfumes you, and whofe pencil paints.
Ye forefts bend, ye harvests wave to him:
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 afleep
Unconscious lies, effufe your mildest beams,
Ye conftellations, while your angels ftrike,
Amid the fpangled fky, the filver lyre.
Great fource of day! beft 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 hufh'd the proftrate world,
While cloud to cloud returns the folemn hymn.
Bleat out afresh, ye hills: ye molly rocks,
Retain the found: the broad refponfive low,
Ye valleys, raife; for the great Shepherd reigns,
And his unfuffering kingdoin yet will come.
Ye woodlands all, awake: a boundless fong
Burft from the groves and when the reflefs day,
Expiring, lays the warbling world afleep,
Sweetelt of birds! fweet Philomela, charm
The liftening fhades, and teach the night his praise.
Ye chief, for whom the whole creation fmiles;
At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all;

Crowa

7

Crown the great hymn! In fwarming cities vaft,
Affembled men, to the deep organ join
The long refounding voice, oft breaking clear
At folemn pauses, thro' the fwelling bafe;
And, as each mingling flame increases each,
In one united ardour rife to heaven.
Or if you rather chuse the rural shade,
And find a fane in every facred grove;
There let the fhepherd's flute, the virgin's lay,
The prompting feraph, and the poet's lyre,
Still fing the God of Seafons as they roll.
For me, when I forget the darling theme,
Whether the bloffom blows, the fummer ray
Ruffets the plain, infpiring Autumn gleams;
Or Winter rifes in the blackening eaft;

Be my tongue mute, may fancy paint no more,
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat!

Should fate command me to the fartheft verge
Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes,
Rivers unknown to fong; where first the fun
Gilds Indian mountains, or his fetting beam
Flames on th' Atlantic ifles ;-'tis nought to me;
Since God is ever prefent, ever felt,

In the void wafte as in the city full;

And where He vital fpreads there must be joy,
When even at laft the folemn hour fhall come,
And wing my myftic flight to future worlds,
I cheerful will obey; there, with new powers,
Will rifing wonders fing: I cannot go,
Where UNIVERSAL LOVE not fmiles around,
Suftaining all yon orbs, and all their fons :
From feeming Evil ftill educing Good,
And Better thence again, and Better fill,
In infinite progreffion. But I lofe

Myfelf in HIM, in LIGHT INEFFABLE!

Come then, expreffive Silence, mufe HIS praife.

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SECTION VII.

1. The Cameleon.

FT has it been my lot to mark
A proud, conceited, talking fpark,
Returning from his finifh'd tour,
Grown ten times perter than before:
Whatever word you chance to drop,
The travell'd fool your mouth will flop-
"Sir, if my judgment you'll allow-
I've feen-and fure I ought to know."-
So begs you'd pay a due fubmiffion,
And acquiefce in his decifion.

Two travellers of fuch a caft,
As o'er Arabia's wilds they pafs'd,
And on their way, in friendly chat,
Now talk'd of this, and then of that;
Difcours'd a while, 'mongst other matter,
Of the Cameleon's form and nature.
"A ftranger animal," cries one,

Sure never liv'd beneath the fun:
A lizard's body lean and long,
A fifh's head, a ferpent's tongue,
Its tooth with triple claw disjoin'd;
And what a length of tail behind!
How flow its pace! and then its hue-
Who ever faw fo fine a blue !"

"Hold there," the other quick replies.
""Tis green: I faw it with these eyes,
As late with open mouth it lay,
And warm'd it in the funny ray:
Stretch'd at its eafe the beaft I view'd,
And faw it eat the air for food."
"I've seen it, Sir, as well as you,
And mult again affirm it blue.
At leifure I the beaft furvey'd,
Extended in the cooling fhade."

" 'Tis green, 'tis green, Sir, I affure ye”6. Green!" cries the other in a fury

“Why

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