And inspect sage; the waving brightness he Curious surveys, inquisitive to know The causes and materials yet unfix'd, Of this appearance beautiful and new.
Now black and deep the night begins to fall,
A shade immense. Sunk in the quenching gloom, Magnificent and vast, are heaven and earth. Order confounded lies; all Beauty void;
Distinction lost; and gay Variety
One universal blot: such the fair power Of Light to kindle and create the whole. Drear is the state of the benighted wretch,
Who then, bewilder'd, wanders through the dark, Full of pale fancies and chimeras huge; Nor visited by one directive ray
From cottage streaming or from airy hall. Perhaps impatient as he stumbles on, Struck from the root of slimy rushes, blue
The wildfire scatters round, or, gathered, trails 1150 A length of flame deceitful o'er the moss, Whither decoy'd by the fantastic blaze, Now lost and now renew'd, he sinks absorpt, Rider and horse, anid the miry gulf; While still, from day to day, his pining wife And plaintive children his return await, In wild conjecture lost. At other times, Sent by the better Genius of the Night, Innoxious gleaming on the horse's mane The meteor sits, and shews the narrow path That, winding, leads thro' pits of death, or else Instructs him how to take the dangerous ford. The lengthened night elaps'd, the morning shines Serene, in all her dewy beauty bright, Unfolding fair the last Autumnal day. And now the mounting sun dispels the fog; The rigid hoar-frost melts before his beam; And, hung on every spray, on every blade
Of grass, the myriad dew-drops twinkle round. Ah see where robb'd, and murder'd in that pit 1170 Lies the still heaving hive! at evening snatch'd Beneath the cloud of guilt-concealing night, And fix'd o'er sulphur, while, not dreaming ill, The happy people in their waxen cells
Sat tending public cares, and planning schemes 1175 Of temperance, for Winter poor; rejoic'd To mark, full flowing round, their copious stores. Sudden the dark oppressive steam ascends, And, us'd to milder scents, the tender race,
By thousands, tumble from their honey'd domes, 1180 Convolv'd and agonizing in the dust.
And was it then for this you roam'd the Spring, Intent from flower to flower? for this you toil'd, Ceaseless, the burning Summer-heats away? For this in Autumn search'd the blooming waste, 1185 Nor lost one sunny gleam? for this sad fate? O Man! tyrannic lord! how long, how long Shall prostrate Nature groan beneath your rage, Awaiting renovation? When oblig'd,
Must you destroy? Of their ambrosial food
Can you not borrow, and, in just return,
Afford them shelter from the wintry winds; Or, as the sharp year pinches, with their own Again regale them on some smiling day? See where the stony bottom of their town Looks desolate and wild, with here and there A helpless number, who the ruin'd state Survive, lamenting weak, cast out to death. Thus a proud city, populous and rich, Full of the works of peace, and high in joy,
At theatre or feast, or sunk in sleep,
(As late, Palermo! was thy fate,) is seiz'd By some dread earthquake, and convulsive hurl'd Sheer from the black foundation, stench-involv'd, Into a gulf of blue sulphureous flame.
Hence every harsher sight! for now the day, O'er heaven and earth diffus'd, grows warm and high, Infinite splendour! wide investing all.
How still the breeze! save what the filmy threads Of dew evaporate brushes from the plain. How clear the cloudless sky! how deeply ting'd With a peculiar blue! the ethereal arch
How swell'd immense ! amid whose azure thron'd, The radiant sun how gay! how calm below The gilded earth! the harvest-treasures all Now gather'd in, beyond the rage of storms, Sure to the swain; the circling fence shut up, And instant Winter's utmost rage defy'd: While loose to festive joy, the country round Laughs with the loud sincerity of Mirth, Shook to the wind their cares. The toil-strung youth, By the quick sense of music taught alone, Leads wildly graceful in the lively dance. Her every charm abroad, the village toast, Young, buxom, warm, in native beauty rich, Darts not unmeaning looks, and, where her eye Points an approving smile, with double force The cudgel rattles, and the wrestler twines. Age, too, shines out, and, garrulous, recounts The feats of youth. Thus they rejoice, nor think That, with to-morrow's sun, their annual toil Begins again the never-ceasing round.
Oh knew he but his happiness, of men The happiest he! who, far from public rage, Deep in the vale, with a choice few retir'd, Drinks the pure pleasures of the rural life. What tho' the dome be wanting, whose proud gate Each morning vomits out the sneaking crowd Of flatterers false, and in their turn abus'd?
Vile intercourse! What tho' the glittering robe, 1240 Of every hue reflected light can give,
Or floating loose, or stiff with mazy gold,
The pride and gaze of fools! oppress him not?
What tho' from utmost land and sea purvey'd, For him each rarer tributary life
Bleeds not, and his insatiate table leaps
With luxury and death? what tho' his bowl Flames not with costly juice? nor sunk in beds, Oft', of gay care, he tosses out the night, Or melts the thoughtless hours in idle state? What tho' he knows not those fantastic joys That still amuse the wanton, still deceive; A face of pleasure, but a heart of pain; Their hollow moments undelighted all? Sure peace is his; a solid life, estrang'd To disappointment and fallacious hope: Rich in content, in Nature's bounty rich, In herbs and fruits; whatever greens the Spring, When heaven descends in showers, or bends the bough When Summer reddens, and when Autumn beams; Or in the Wintry glebe whatever lies Conceal'd and fattens with the richest sap;
These are not wanting; nor the milky drove, Luxuriant, spread o'er all the lowing vale;
Nor bleating mountains; nor the chide of streams,
And hum of bees, inviting sleep sincere
Into the guiltless breast, beneath the shade,
Or thrown at large amid the fragrant hay;
Nor aught besides of prospect, grove, or song,
Dim grottos, gleaming lakes, and fountains clear. 1270 Here, too, dwelis simple Truth, plain Innocence, Unsullied Beauty, sound unbroken Youth,
Patient of labour, with a little pleas'd; Health ever blooming, unambitious Toil, Calm Contemplation, and poetic Ease. Let others brave the flood in quest of gain, And beat, for joyless months, the gloomy wave. Let such as deem it glory to destroy Rush into blood, the sack of cities seek,
Unpierc'd, exulting in the widow's wail, The virgin's shriek, and infant's trembling cry.
Let some, far distant from their native soil, Urg'd or by want or harden'd avarice, Find other lands beneath another sun. Let this thro' cities work his eager way, By regal outrage and establish'd guile, The social sense extinct, and that ferment Mad into tumult the seditious herd, Or melt them down to slavery; let these Insnare the wretched in the toils of law, Fomenting discord, and perplexing right; An iron race! and those of fairer front, But equal inhumanity, in courts, Delusive pomp, and dark cabals, delight; Wreath the deep bow, diffuse the lying smile, And tread the weary labyrinth of state: While he, from all the stormy passions free That restless men involve, hears, and but hears, At distance safe, the human tempest roar, Wrapt close in conscious peace. The fall of kings, The rage of nations, and the crush of states, Move not the man who, from the world escap❜d, In still retreats and flowery solitudes,
To Nature's voice attends, from month to month, And day to day, thro' the revolving year;
Admiring sees her in her every shape,
Feels all her sweet emotions at his heart,
Takes what she liberal gives, nor thinks of more. He, when young Spring protrudes the bursting gems, Marks the first bud, and sucks the healthful gale 1310 Into his freshen'd soul: her genial hours
He full enjoys, and not a beauty blows, And not an opening blossom breathes in vain. In Summer he, beneath the living shade, Such as o'er frigid Tempe wont to wave, Or Hemus cool, reads what the Muse of these,
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