Shall the great soul of Newton quit this earth,
To mingle with his stars; and every muse,
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SEE! Winter comes, to rule the varied Year, Sullen, and sad; with all his rising Train,
Vapours, and Clouds, and Storms: Be these my Theme,
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O Nature! all-sufficient! over all!
Enrich me with the knowledge of Thy works!
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Oh! knew he but his happiness, of men
The happiest he, who, far from public rage,
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When now no more th' alternate twins are fired,
And Cancer reddens with the solar blaze,
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'Tis raging noon; and, vertical, the sun
Darts on the head direct his forceful rays.
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O Peace! the fairest child of heaven,
To whom the sylvan reign was given,
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'Tis done! dread winter spreads its latest glooms, And reigns tremendous o'er the conquer'd year.
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Accept, loved Nymph, this tribute due
To tender friendship, love, and you:
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Ah, urged too late! from beauty's bondage free,
Why did I trust my liberty with thee?
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Among the changing months, May stands confest
The sweetest, and in fairest colours dressed!
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Around th' adjoining brook, that purls along The vocal grove, now fretting o'er a rock,
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As thus the patient dam assiduous sits, Not to be tempted from her tender task,
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As thus the snows arise; and foul and fierce, All winter drives along the darken'd air;
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Beauty deserves the homage of the muse: Shall mine, rebellious, the dear theme refuse?
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Bold is the man! who, in this nicer age, Presumes to tread the chaste corrected stage.
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But see the fading many-colour'd woods, Shade deepening over shade, the country round
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By Rufus' hall, where Thames polluted flows,
Provoked, the Genius of the river rose,
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Come, dear Amanda, quit the town, And to the rural hamlets fly;
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Come, gentle God of soft desire,
Come and possess my happy breast,
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Come, gentle Spring! ethereal Mildness! come, And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud,
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Come, gentle Venus! and assuage
A warring world, a bleeding age.
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Confess'd from yonder slow-extinguish'd clouds, All ether softening, sober Evening takes
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Cramm'd to the throat with wholesome moral stuff, Alas! poor audience! you have had enough.
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Crown'd with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf, While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain,
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DAVID. What means yon apparition in the sky,
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E. S.
Once a lively image of human nature,
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Ethereal race, inhabitants of air,
Who hymn your god amid the secret grove;
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Feather'd lyric, warbling high, Sweetly gaining on the sky,
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First Spirit.
Hear, Alfred, father of the state,
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