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Then feek the bank where flowering elders crowd,
Where scatter'd wild the lily of the vale

Its balmy effence breathes, where cowflips hang 445
The dewy head, where purple violets lurk,
With all the lowly children of the shade:
Or lie reclin'd beneath yon spreading ash,

Hung o'er the steep; whence, borne on liquid wing,
The founding culver fhoots; or where the hawk, 450
High, in the beetling cliff, his aëry builds.

There let the claffic page thy fancy lead
Through rural scenes; fuch as the Mantuan fwain
Paints in the matchlefs harmony of fong.

Or catch thyself the landskip, gliding swift
Athwart imagination's vivid eye:

Or by the vocal woods and waters lull'd,
And loft in lonely mufing, in the dream,
Confus'd, of carelefs folitude, where mix
Ten thousand wandering images of things,
Soothe every guft of paffion into peace;
All but the fwellings of the soften'd heart,
That waken, not disturb, the tranquil mind.

Behold yon breathing profpect bids the Mufe

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Throw all her beauty forth. But who can paint 465 Like Nature? Can imagination boast,

Amid its gay creation, hues like hers?

Or can it mix them with that matchlefs fkill,

And lofe them in each other, as appears

In every bud that blows? If fancy then
Unequal fails beneath the pleasing task,
Ah, what shall language do? ah, where find words.

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Ting'd with fo many colours; and whofe power,
To life approaching, may perfume my lays
With that fine oil, thofe aromatic gales
That inexhauftive flow continual round?

Yet, though fuccefslefs, will the toil delight. Come then, ye virgins and ye youths, whose hearts Have felt the raptures of refining love;

And thou, Amanda, come, pride of my fong!
Form'd by the Graces, loveliness itself!

Come with those downcaft eyes, fedate and sweet,
Thofe looks demure, that deeply pierce the foul,
Where, with the light of thoughtful reafon mix'd,
Shines lively fancy and the feeling heart:
O come! and while the rofy-footed May
Steals blushing on, together let us tread

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The morning dews, and gather in their prime
Fresh-blooming flowers, to grace thy braided hair,
And thy lov'd bofom that improves their sweets. 490
See where the winding vale its lavish stores,
Irriguous, fpreads. See, how the lily drinks
The latent rill, fcarce oozing through the grafs,
Of growth luxuriant; or the humid bank,
In fair profufion, decks. Long let us walk,
Where the breeze blows from yon extended field

Of bloffom'd beans. Arabia cannot boast

A fuller gale of joy, than, liberal, thence

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Breathes through the fenfe, and takes the ravifh'd foul,
Nor is the mead unworthy of thy foot,
Full of fresh verdure, and unnumber'd flowers,

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The negligence of Nature, wide, and wild;

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Where, undifguis'd by mimic Art, fhe spreads
Unbounded beauty to the roving eye.

Here their delicious tafk the fervent bees,

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In fwarming millions, tend: around, athwart,

Through the foft air, the busy nations fly,
Cling to the bud, and, with inferted tube,
Suck its pure effence, its ethereal foul;

And oft, with bolder wing, they foaring dare

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The purple heath, or where the wild thyme grows,

And yellow load them with the luscious spoil.

At length the finifh'd garden to the view

Its viftas opens, and its alleys green.

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Snatch'd through the verdant maze, the hurried eye Distracted wanders; now the bowery walk

Of covert close, where scarce a fpeck of day

Falls on the lengthen'd gloom, protracted fweeps:
Now meets the bending sky; the river now
Dimpled along, the breezy ruffled lake,

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The foreft darkening round, the glittering spire,
Th' ethereal mountain, and the distant main.
But why fo far excurfive? when at hand,
Along thefe blufhing borders, bright with dew,
And in yon mingled wilderness of flowers,

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Fair-handed Spring unbofoms every grace;
Throws out the fnow-drop, and the crocus firft;
The daify, primrose, violet darkly blue,
And polyanthus of unnumber'd dyes;

The yellow wall-flower, ftain'd with iron-brown; 530
And lavish ftock that scents the garden round:

From the foft wing of vernal breezes fhed,

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Anemonies; auriculas, enrich'd

With fhining meal o'er all their velvet leaves;
And full ranunculas of glowing red.

Then comes the tulip-race, where Beauty plays
Her idle freaks; from family diffus'd

To family, as flies the father-dust,

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The varied colours run; and, while they break
On the charm'd eye, th' exulting florist marks,
With fecret pride, the wonders of his hand.
No gradual bloom is wanting; from the bud,
First-born of Spring, to Summer's musky tribes:
Nor hyacinths, of purest virgin white,

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Low-bent, and blushing inward; nor jonquils,

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Of potent fragrance; nor Narciffus fair,

As o'er the fabled fountain hanging ftill;

Nor broad carnations, nor gay-fpotted pinks;

Nor, fhower'd from every bush, the damask-rose.
Infinite numbers, delicacies, fmells,

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With hues on hues expreffion cannot paint,

The breath of Nature, and her endless bloom.

Of heaven and earth! Effential Prefence, hail!

Hail, Source of Being! Universal Soul

To Thee I bend the knee; to Thee my thoughts, 555
Continual, climb; who, with a master-hand,

Haft the great whole into perfection touch'd.
By Thee the various vegetative tribes,

Wrapt in a filmy net, and clad with leaves,
Draw the live ether, and imbibe the dew:

By Thee difpos'd into congenial foils,
Stands each attractive plant, and fucks, and swells

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The juicy tide; a twining mass of tubes.
At Thy command the vernal fun awakes
The torpid fap, detruded to the root
By wintery winds; that now in fluent dance,
And lively fermentation, mounting, fpreads
All this innumerous-colour'd scene of things.
As rifing from the vegetable world
My theme afcends, with equal wing afcend,

My panting Mufe; and hark, how loud the woods
Invite you forth in all your gayest trim.

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Lend me your fong, ye nightingales! oh! pour
The mazy-running foul of melody

Into my varied verfe! while I deduce,

From the first note the hollow cuckoo fings,
The fymphony of Spring, and touch a theme
Unknown to fame, the Paffion of the groves.

When first the foul of love is fent abroad,
Warm through the vital air, and on the heart
Harmonious feizes, the gay troops begin,

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In gallant thought to plume the painted wing;
And try again the long-forgotten ftrain,

At first faint-warbled. But no fooner grows

The foft infufion prevalent and wide,

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Than, all alive, at once their joy o'erflows
In mufic unconfin'd. Up-fprinks the lark,
Shrill-voic'd, and loud, the meffenger of morn;

Ere yet the shadows fly, he mounted fings

Amid the dawning clouds, and from their haunts 590 Calls up the tuneful nations. Every copfe

Deep-tangled, tree irregular, and bush

Bending

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