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Is dreary, fo with him all seasons please.
Though winter had been none, had man been

true,

And earth be punished for its tenant's fake,
Yet not in vengeance; as this fmiling sky,
So foon fucceeding fuch an angry night,
And these diffolving fnows, and this clear stream
Recov'ring faft its liquid mufic, prove.

Who then, that has a mind well ftrung and tun'd

To contemplation, and within his reach.
A scene fo friendly to his fav'rite task,
Would wafte attention at the chequer'd board,
His hoft of wooden warriors to and fro
Marching and counter-marching, with an eye
As fixt as marble, with a forehead ridg'd
And furrow'd into storms, and with a hand
Trembling, as if eternity were hung
In balance on his conduct of a pin ?
Nor envies he aught more their idle sport,
Who pant with application mifapplied
To trivial toys, and, pushing iv'ry balls
Across the velvet level, feel a joy
Akin to rapture, when the bawble finds
Its deftin'd goal, of difficult accefs.
Nor deems he wifer him, who gives his noon
To Mifs, the Mercer's plague, from fhop to fhop
Wand'ring, and litt'ring with unfolded filks

The

The polifh'd counter, and approving none,
Or promifing with fmiles to call again.
Nor him, who by his vanity feduc'd,
And footh'd into a dream that he discerns
The diff'rence of a Guido from a daub,
Frequents the crowded auction. Station'd there
As duly as the Langford of the fhow,
With glafs at eye, and catalogue in hand,
And tongue accomplish'd in the fulfome cant
And pedantry that coxcombs learn with eafe;
Oft as the price-deciding hammer falls
He notes it in his book, then raps his box,
Swears 'tis a bargain, rails at his hard fate
That he has let it pass-but never bids.

Here, unmolefted, through whatever fign
The fun proceeds, I wander. Neither mift,
Nor freezing fky, nor fultry, checking me,
Nor stranger intermeddling with my joy.
Ev'n in the fpring and play-time of the year
That calls th' unwonted villager abroad
With all her little ones, a fportive train,
To gather king-cups in the yellow mead,
And prink their hair with daifies, or to pick
A cheap but wholefome fallad from the brook,
Thefe fhades are all my own. The tim'rous hare,
Grown fo familiar with her frequent gueft,
Scarce fhuns me; and the stock-dove, unalarm'd,
Sits cooing in the pine-tree, nor fufpends
His long love-ditty for my near approach.

Drawn

Drawn from his refuge in fome lonely elm
That age or injury has hollow'd deep,
Where, on his bed of wool and matted leaves,
He has outflept the winter, ventures forth
To frifk awhile, and bask in the warm fun,
The fquirrel, flippant, pert, and full of play:
He fees me, and at once, swift as a bird,
Afcends the neighb'ring beech; there whisks his
bruth,

And perks his ears, and ftamps and scolds aloud,
With all the prettiness of feign'd alarm,
And anger infignificantly fierce.

The heart is hard in nature, and unfit
For human fellowship, as being void
Of fympathy, and therefore dead alike
To love and friendship both, that is not pleas'd
With fight of animals enjoying life,

Nor feels their happiness augment his own.
The bounding fawn that darts across the glade
When none pursues, through mere delight of
heart,

And spirits buoyant with excefs of glee;
The horse as wanton, and almost as fleet,
That fkims the spacious meadow at full speed,
Then ftops and fnorts, and, throwing high his
heels,

Starts to the voluntary race again;

The very kine that gambol at high noon,

The

The total herd receiving firft from one
That leads the dance, a fummons to be gay,
Though wild their strange vagaries, and uncouth
Their efforts, yet refolv'd with one confent
To give fuch act and utt'rance as they may
To extafy too big to be fupprefs'd-
These, and a thousand images of blifs,
With which kind nature graces ev'ry scene,
Where cruel man defeats not her defign,
Impart to the benevolent, who wish
All that are capable of pleasure, pleas'd,
A far fuperior happiness to theirs,
The comfort of a reasonable joy.

Man fcarce had ris'n, obedient to his call Who form'd him from the duft, his future grave, When he was crown'd as never king was fince. God fet the diadem upon his head,

And angel choirs attended. Wond'ring flood
The new-made monarch, while before him pass'd,
All happy, and all perfect in their kind,
The creatures, fummon'd from their various haunts
To fee their fov'reign, and confefs his sway :
Vaft was his empire, abfolute his pow'r,
Or bounded only by a law whofe force
'Twas his fublimeft privilege to feel
And own, the law of univerfal love.
He rul'd with meeknefs, they obey'd with joy;
No cruel purpose lurk'd within his heart,

And

And no diftruft of his intent in theirs.
So Eden was a scene of harmless fport,
Where kindness on his part who rul'd the whole
Begat a tranquil confidence in all,

And fear as yet was not, nor cause for fear.
But fin marr'd all; and the revolt of man,
That fource of evils, not exhausted yet,
Was punifh'd with revolt of his from him.
Garden of God, how terrible the change
Thy groves and lawns then witnefs'd! ev'ry heart,
Each animal of ev'ry name, conceiv'd
A jealousy and an inftinctive fear,

And, conscious of fome danger, either fled
Precipitate the loath'd abode of man,

Or growl'd defiance in fuch angry fort,
As taught him too to tremble in his turn.
Thus harmony and family accord

Were driv'n from Paradife; and in that hour
The feeds of cruelty, that fince have fwell'd
To fuch gigantic and enormous growth,
Were fown in human nature's fruitful foil.
Hence date the perfecution and the pain
That man inflicts on all inferior kinds,
Regardless of their plaints. To make him fport,
Or his base gluttony, are caufes good
And just, in his account, why bird and beast
Should fuffer torture, and the ftreams be dy'd
With blood of their inhabitants impal'd.

Earth

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