Whose work is without labor, whose designs
No flaw deforms, no difficulty thwarts,
And whose beneficence no charge exhausts.
Him blind antiquity profan'd, not serv❜d,
With felf-taught rites, and under various names,
Female and male, Pomona, Pales, Pan,
And Flora and Vertumnus; peopling earth
With tutelary goddeffes and gods
That were not, and commending as they would
To each fome province, garden, field, or grove,
But all are under one, One spirit-His
Who wore the platted thorns with bleeding brows, Rules univerfal nature. Not a flow'r
But shows some touch in freckle, ftreak or ftain,
Of his unrivall❜d pencil. He infpires
Their balmy odors and imparts their hues,
And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes,
In grains as countless as the fea-fide fands,
The forms with which he sprinkles all the earth,
Happy who walks with him! whom what he finds
Of flavour or of fcent in fruit or flow'r,
Or what he views of beautiful or grand
In nature, from the broad majestic oak
To the green blade that twinkles in the fun,
Prompts with remembrance of a prefent God.
His prefence, who made all fo fair, perceiv'd,
Makes all still fairer. As with him no fcene
Is dreary, fo with him all feasons 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 smiling 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 fport,
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 access.
Nor deems he wifer him, who gives his noon
To Mifs, the Mercer's plague, from shop to fhop
Wand'ring, and litt'ring with unfolded filks
The polish'd counter, and approving none,
Or promifing with fimiles to call again.
Nor him, who by his vanity feduc'd,
And footh'd into a dream that he difcerns
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 glass at eye, and catalogue in hand,
And tongue accomplish'd in the fulfome cant
And pedantry that coxcombs learn with ease ;
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, unmolested, through whatever fign The fun proceeds, I wander. Neither mist, Nor freezing sky, 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 daisies, or to pick A cheap but wholesome fallad from the brook, These shades are all my own. The tim'rous hare, Grown
Grown fo familiar with her frequent guest,
Scarce fhuns me; and the ftock-dove, unalarm'd,
Sits cooing in the pine-tree, nor fufpends
His long love-ditty for my near approach.
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 outslept the winter, ventures forth
To frisk awhile, and bask in the warm fun,
The squirrel, flippant, pert, and full of play:
He fees me, and at once, fwift as a bird,
Afcends the neighb'ring beach; there whisks his brush,
And perks his ears, and stamps and fcolds 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
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