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As if upon a full proportion'd dome,

On fwelling columns heav'd, the pride of art! 325
A critic-fly, whose feeble ray scarce spreads
An inch around, with blind prefumption bold,
Should dare to tax the ftructure of the whole.
And lives the Man, whofe univerfal eye
Has fwept at once th' unbounded scheme of things;
Mark'd their dependance fo, and firm accord; 331
As with unfaultering accent to conclude
That This availeth nought? Has any seen
The mighty chain of beings, leffening down
From INFINITE PERFECTION to the brink
Of dreary Nothing, defolate abyfs!

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From which astonish'd thought, recoiling, turns?
Till then alone let zealous praise ascend,

And hymns of holy wonder, to that PowER,
Whose wisdom fhines as lovely on our minds, 340
As on our smiling eyes his fervant-sun.

THICK in yon ftream of light, a thoufand ways, Upward, and downward, thwarting, and convolv'd, The quivering nations fport; till, tempeft-wing'd, Fierce Winter sweeps them from the face of day. 345 Even fo luxurious Men, unheeding, pafs

An idle fummer life in fortune's shine,
A feafon's glitter! Thus they flutter on
From toy to toy, from vanity to vice;
Till, blown away by death, oblivion comes
Behind, and strikes them from the book of life.

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Now

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Now swarms the village o'er the jovial mead :
The ruftic youth, brown with meridian toil,
Healthful and ftrong; full as the fummer-rofe
Blown by prevailing funs, the ruddy maid,
Half naked, swelling on the fight, and all
Her kindled graces burning o'er her cheek.
Even ftooping age is here; and infant-hands
Trail the long rake, or, with the fragrant load
O'ercharg'd, amid the kind oppreffion roll.
Wide flies the tedded grain; all in a row
Advancing broad, or wheeling round the field,
They spread the breathing harvest to the fun,
That throws refreshful round a rural fmell:
Or, as they rake the green-appearing ground, 365.
And drive the dusky wave along the mead,
The ruffet hay-cock rises thick behind,

In order gay. While heard from dale to dale,
Waking the breeze, refounds the blended voice.
Of happy labour, love, and focial glee.<

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OR rushing thence, in one diffufive band,
They drive the troubled flocks, by many a dog
Compell'd, to where the mazy-running brook
Forms a deep pool; this bank abrupt and high,
And That fair-spreading in a pebbled shore,
Urg'd to the giddy brink, much is the toil,
The clamour much, of men, and boys, and dogs,
Ere the foft fearful people to the flood
Commit their woolly fides. And oft the fwain,

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On

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On fome impatient feizing, hurls them in:
Embolden'd then, nor hesitating more,.
Faft, faft, they plunge amid the flashing wave,
And panting labour to the farthest shore.
Repeated this, till deep the well-wafh'd fleece
Has drunk the flood, and from his lively haunt 385
The trout is banish'd by the fordid stream;
Heavy, and dripping, to the breezy brow
Slow move the harmless race: where, as they spread
Their fwelling treasures to the funny ray,

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Inly disturb'd, and wondering what this wild 390
Outrageous tumult means, their loud complaints
The country fill; and, tofs'd from rock to rock,
Inceffant bleatings run around the hills.
At laft, of snowy white, the gathered flocks
Are in the wattled pen innumerous press'd,
Head above head: and, rang'd in lufty rows
The shepherds fit, and whet the founding fhears.
The housewife waits to roll her fleecy ftores,
With all her gay-dreft maids attending round.
One, chief, in gracious dignity enthron'd,
Shines o'er the reft, the paftoral queen, and rays
Her fmiles, fweet-beaming, on her shepherd-king;
While the glad circle round them yield their fouls
To feftive mirth, and wit that knows no gall.
Meantime, their joyous task goes on apace:
Some mingling ftir the melted tar, and fome,
Deep on the new-fhorn vagrant's heaving fide,
To ftamp the master's cypher ready stand;

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Others

Others the unwilling wether drag along;
And, glorying in his might, the sturdy boy
Holds by the twisted horns th' indignant ram.
Behold where bound, and of its robe bereft,
By needy Man, that all-depending lord,
How meek, how patient, the mild creature lies!
What softness in its melancholy face,
What dumb complaining innocence appears!
Fear not, ye gentle tribes, 'tis not the knife
Of horrid flaughter that is o'er you wav'd;
No, 'tis the tender fwain's well-guided shears,
Who having now, to pay his annual care,
Borrowed your fleece, to you a cumbrous load,
Will fend you bounding to your hills again.

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A SIMPLE fcene! yet hence BRITANNIA fees Her folid grandeur rise: hence she commands Th' exalted ftores of every brighter clime, The treasures of the Sun without his rage: Hence, fervent all, with culture, toil, and arts, Wide glows her land: her dreadful thunder hence Rides o'er the waves fublime, and now, even now, Impending hangs o'er Gallia's humbled coaft; 430 Hence rules the circling deep, and awes the world.

"Tis raging Noon; and, vertical, the Sun Darts on the head direct his forceful rays. O'er heaven and earth, far as the ranging eye. Can fweep, a dazling deluge reigns; and all

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From

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From pole to pole is undistinguish'd blaze.
In vain the fight, dejected to the ground,
Stoops for relief; thence hot-afcending steams
And keen reflection pain. Deep to the root
Of vegetation parch'd, the cleaving fields.
And flippery lawn an arid hue disclose,
Blaft Fancy's bloom, and wither even the Soul.
Echo no more returns the chearful found
Of sharpening scythe: the mower finking heaps
O'er him the humid hay, with flowers perfum'd; 445
And scarce a chirping grass-hopper is heard
Thro' the dumb mead. Diftressful Nature pants.
The very ftreams look languid from afar;
Or, thro' th' unfhelter'd glade, impatient, seem
To hurl into the covert of the grove.

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ALL-CONQUERING Heat, oh intermit thy wrath!

And on my throbbing temples potent thus
Beam not fo fierce! Inceffant ftill you flow,
And still another fervent flood fucceeds,
Pour'd on the head profufe. In vain I figh,
And restless turn, and look around for Night;
Night is far off; and hotter hours approach.
Thrice happy he! who on the funless fide
Of a romantic mountain, forest-crown'd,
Beneath the whole collected fhade reclines:
Or in the gelid caverns, woodbine-wrought,
And fresh bedew'd with ever-fpouting ftreams,
Sits coolly calm; while all the world without,

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