They meet their fate, or, weltering in the bowl, 265 With powerless wings around them wrapt, expire. But chief to heedless flies the window proves
A constant death, where, gloomily retir'd,
The villain spider lives, cunning and fierce,
Mixture abhorr'd! Amid a mangled heap
Of carcaffes, in eager watch he fits,
O'erlooking all his waving snares around:
Near the dire cell the dreadless wanderer oft'
Paffes, as oft' the ruffian shows his front;
The prey at last ensnar'd, he dreadful darts, 275
With rapid glide, along the leaning line,
And fixing in the wretch his cruel fangs,
Strikes backward, grimly pleas'd: the fluttering wing,
And shriller found, declare extreme distress,
And ask the helping hospitable hand.
Resounds the living furface of the ground;
Nor undelightful is the ceaselefs hum
To him who muses thro' the woods at noon,
Or drowsy shepherd as he lies reclin'd,
With half-fhut eyes, beneath the floating shade 285 Of willows grey, clofe-crowding o'er the brook.
Gradual from these what numerous kinds descend, Evading even the microscopic eye! Full Nature swarms with life; one wondrous mass Of animals, or atoms organiz'd, Waiting the vital breath, when Parent-Heaven Shall bid his Spirit blow. The hoary fen, Volume I.
In putrid steams, emits the living cloud
Of pestilence. Thro' fubterranean cells,
Where fearching funbeams scarce can find a way, 295
Earth animated heaves. The flowery leaf
Wants not its foft inhabitants. Secure,
Within its winding citadel the stone
Holds multitudes. But chief the forest-boughs,
That dance unnumber'd to the playful breeze, 300
The downy orchard, and the melting pulp
Of mellow fruit, the nameless nations feed
Of evanefcent insects. Where the pool
Stands mantled o'er with green, invifible,
Amid the floating verdure millions stray.
Each liquid, too, whether it pierces, sooths,
Inflames, refreshes, or exalts the taste,
With various forms abounds. Nor is the stream
Of purest crystal, nor the lucid air,
Tho' one transparent vacancy it feems,
Void of their unseen people. Thefe, conceal'd
By the kind art of forming Heaven, escape
The groffer eye of Man; for if the worlds
In worlds enclos'd should on his senses burst,
From cates ambrofial and the nectar'd bowl
He would abhorrent turn, and in dead night,
When filence fleeps o'er all, be stunn'd with noife.
Let no presuming impious railer tax
Creative Wisdom, as if aught was form'd
In vain, or not for admirable ends.
Shall little haughty Ignorance pronounce
His works unwife, of which the smallest part
Exceeds the narrow vifion of her mind ?
As if upon a full-proportion'd dome,
On fwelling columns heav'd, the pride of Art! 325
A critic fly, whose feeble ray scarce spreads
An inch around, with blind presumption bold,
Should dare to tax the structure of the whole.
And lives the man whose univerfal eye
Has swept at once th' unbounded scheme of things,
Mark'd their dependance fo, and firm accord, 331
As with unfaultering accent to conclude
That this availeth nought? Has any feen
The mighty chain of beings, lessening down
From Infinite Perfection to the brink
Of dreary Nothing, defolate abyss!
From which aftonish'd thought, recoiling, turns?
Till then, alone let zealous praise ascend,
And hymns of holy wonder, to that Power Whose Wisdom fhines as lovely on our minds, 340 As on our fmiling eyes his fervant fun.
Thick in yon' stream of light a thousand ways, Upward and downward, thwarting and convolv'd, The quivering nations sport, till, tempeft-wing'd, Fierce Winter sweeps them from the face of day. 345 Even so luxurious men, unheeding, pass An idle fummer-life in Fortune's shine;
A feason's glitter! Thus they flutter on
From toy to toy, from vanity to vice,
Till, blown away by Death, Oblivion comes 350
Behind, and strikes them from the Book of Life.
Now swarms the village o'er the jovial mead;
The ruftic youth, brown with meridian toil,
Healthful and strong; full as the summer rose,
Blown by prevailing funs, the ruddy maid,
Half naked, swelling on the fight, and all
Her kindled graces burning o'er her cheek.
Even stooping Age is here, and infant-hands
Trail the long rake, or, with the fragrant load
O'ercharg'd, amid the kind oppreffion roll.
Wide flies the tedded grain; all in a row
Advancing broad, or wheeling round the field,
They spread their breathing harvest to the fun,
That throws refreshful round a rural smell;
Or, as they rake the green-appearing ground, 365
And drive the dusky wave along the mead,
The ruffet hay-cock rifes thick behind,
In order gay; while, heard from dale to dale,
Waking the breeze, refounds the blended voice
Of happy labour, love, and social glee.
Or rushing thence, in one diffusive band They drive the troubled flocks, by many a dog Compell'd, to where the mazy-running brook Forms a deep pool, this bank abrupt and high, And that fair spreading in a pebbled shore.
Urg'd to the giddy brink, much is the toil,
The clamour much of men, and boys, and dogs,
Ere the foft fearful people to the flood
Commit their woolly fides; and oft' the swain,
On fome impatient seizing, hurls them in :
Embolden'd then, nor hefitating more,
Faft, faft they plunge amid the flashing wave,
And, panting, labour to the farthest shore.
Repeated this, till deep the well-wash'd fleece
Has drunk the flood, and from his lively haunt 385
The trout is banish'd by the fordid stream,
Heavy, and dripping, to the breezy brow
Slow move the harmless race, where, as they spread
Their swelling treasures to the funny ray,
Inly disturb'd, and wondering what this wild 395
Outrageous tumult means, their loud complaints
The country fill, and, tofs'd from rock to rock,
Inceffant bleatings run around the hills.
At last, of snowy white, the gathered flocks
Are in the wattled pen innumerous prefs'd,
Head above head, and rang'd in lufty rows
The shepherds fit, and whet the founding shears.
The housewife waits to roll her fleecy stores,
With all her gay-drest maids attending round.
One, chief, in gracious dignity enthron'd,
Shines o'er the rest, the paftoral queen, and rays
Her fmiles, sweet-beaming, on her shepherd-king,
While the glad circle round them yield their fouls
To festive mirth, and wit that knows no gall.
Mean time their joyous task goes on apace;
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