Thy works a little world, new-found appear,
And thou the Phebus of a heaven so fair;
Thee their bright sovereign all the signs allow,
And Thomson is the name for Nature now:
Thou first could'st drive the coursers of the day,
Nor through the dazzling glories lost thy way;
Thy steeds red hoofs, still trod the eternal round,
Nor threw the burning chariot to the ground.
So round Julus' temples blazing bright
In locks dishevel'd stream'd a length of light;
The prince unharm'd beheld the sparkles spread,
Nor shook the shining honours from his head.
Beneath thy touch, description paints anew,
And the skies brighten to a purer blue ;
Spring owes thy pencil her peculiar green,
And drown'd in redder roses Summer's seen;
While hoary Winter whitens into cold,
And Autumn bends beneath her bearded gold.
In various drapery see the rolling year,
And the wild waste in sable spots appear;
O'er the black heath the bittern stalks alone,
And to the naked marshes makes his moan;
Engulph'd in bogs behold his muddy beak,
And the brown partridge feeding in the brake.
But chief the sweetest passion best you sing,
The grove's soft theme, and symphony of Spring:
How brindled lions roar with fierce desire,
And in the waters Phocae feel the fire;
There large Leviathan unwieldly raves,
And burns though circled round with all his waves.
But higher still, those wonders must give place
To the new transports of a beauteous face!
Its force on man--the touch-the glowing glance,
The tempting bosom, and the tender trance!
On those how strongly dost thou paint our care,
And all the darling weakness of the fair;
What thanks must Beauty give in yielding hour,
To warn them from us in the rosy bower!
A sudden flash of lightning turns my eye
To thunder rumbling in the Summer sky!
Beneath thy hand the flaming sheet is spread
O'er heaven's wide face, and wraps it round with
With the broad blaze the kindling lines grow
And all the glowing page is fill'd with light;
Through the rough verse the thunder hoarsly roars
And on red wings the nimble lightning soars :
Here thy Amelia starts, and, chill'd with fears,
At every flash her eye-lids swim in tears;
What heart but beats for so divine a form,
Pale as a lily sinking in the storm!
What maid so cold to take a lover's part,
But pities Celadon with all her heart!
How precious gems enrich each sparkling line,
Add sun to sun, and from thy fancy shine!
Here rocks of diamond blaze in broken ray,
And sanguine rubies shed a blushing day;
Blue shining sapphires a gay heaven unfold,
And topaz lightens like transparent gold;
Of evening tint pale amethysts are seen,
And emeralds paint their languid beams with green:
While the clear opal courts the rural sight;
And rains a shower of many-colour'd light:
Your sky-dipp'd pencil adds the proper glow,
Stains each bright stone, and lets their lustre flow,
Tempers the colours shifting from each beam,
And bids them flash in one continued stream.
So have I seen the florid rainbow rise,
In braided colours o'er the watery skies,
Where drops of light alternate fall away,
And fainting gleams in gradual dies decay;
But thrown together the broad arch displays
One tide of glory! one collected blaze !
Where may
those numbers find thee now retired?
What lawn or grove is by the Muse admired?
Dost thou in Stowe's delightful gardens stray,
Or in the glooms of Doddington delay:
There sweet embower'd some favourite author read,
Or breathe the breezes of thy native Tweed;
On her cool border rest reclined a while,
Mindful of Forbes, and of thy own Argyle?
O! thou that only in this garb could'st please,
And bring me over to commend thy lays,
Where rhyme is wanting, but where fancy shines,
And burst like ripen'd ore above the mines:
Enjoy thy genius, glory in thy choice,
Whose Roman freedom has Roscommon's voice.
The friend of Shenstone and Graves, who had courage enough to break through the prejudice which exists at our Universities, against Servitors and Sizers, and to admit him of their Society, on which Jago brought no discredit. He was afterwards protected and cherished by persons of higher rank, and died at his Rectory of Snitterfield, in Warwickshire, which he owed tejthe patronage of the Earl Nugent.
you, whose groves protect the feather'd choirs, Who lend their artless notes a willing ear, To you, whom pity moves, and taste inspires,
The Dorick strain belongs, O Shenstone, hear.
'Twas gentle Spring, when all the plumy race,
By nature taught, in nuptial league combine! A Goldfinch joy'd to meet the warm embrace,
And with her mate in love's delights to join.
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