Of Botanist to number up their tribes:
Whether he steals along the lonely Dale,
In silent search; or through the Forest, rank
With what the dull incurious Weeds account,
Bursts his blind way; or climbs the mountain Rock,
Fired by the nodding Verdure of its brow.
With such a liberal hand has Nature flung
Their Seeds abroad, blown them about in winds,
Innumerous mixed them with the nursing mold,
The moistening current, and prolific rain.
Now swarms the Village o'er the jovial mead:
The rustic Youth, brown with meridian toil,
Healthful and strong; full as the summer rose
Blown by prevailing suns, the ruddy Maid,
Half-naked, swelling on the sight, 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'ercharged, amid the kind oppression roll.
Wide flies the tedded grain; all in a row
Advancing broad, or wheeling round the field,
They spread the breathing harvest to the Sun,
That throws refreshful round a rural smell:
Or, as they rake the green appearing ground,
And drive the dusky wave along the mead,
The russet haycock rises thick behind,
In order gay while heard from dale to dale,
Waking the breeze, resounds the blended voice
Of happy Labor, Love, and social Glee.
Or rushing thence, in one diffusive band,
They drive the troubled Flocks, by many a Dog
Compelled, to where the mazy running brook
Forms a deep pool; this bank abrupt and high,
And that fair spreading in a pebbled shore.
Urged to the giddy brink, much is the toil,
The clamor much of Men, and Boys, and Dogs,
Ere the soft fearful People to the flood
Commit their woolly sides. And oft the Swain,
On some, impatient, seizing, hurls them in:
Emboldened then, nor hesitating more,
Fast, fast, they plunge amid the flashing wave,
And, panting, labor to the farther shore.
Repeated this, till deep the well-washed Fleece
Has drunk the flood, and from his lively haunt,
The Trout is banished by the sordid stream.
Heavy, and dripping, to the breezy brow
Slow move the harmless Race: where, as they spread
Their swelling treasures to the sunny ray,
Inly disturbed, and wondering what this wild
Outrageous tumult means, their loud complaints
The country fill; and, tossed from rock to rock,
Incessant bleatings run around the hills.
At last, of snowy white, the gathered Flocks
Are in the wattled pen, innumerous, pressed,
Head above head: and, ranged in lusty rows,
The Shepherds sit, and whet the sounding shears.
The Housewife waits to roll her fleecy stores,
With all her gay-drest Maids attending round.
One, chief, in gracious dignity enthroned,
Shines o'er the rest, the pastoral Queen, and rays
Her smiles, sweet-beaming, on her Shepherd king;
While the glad Circle round them yield their souls
To festive mirth, and wit that knows no gall.
'Tis raging Noon; and, vertical, the Sun
Darts on the head direct his forceful rays.
O'er heaven and earth, far as the ranging eye
Can sweep, a dazzling deluge reigns; and all,
From pole to pole, is undistinguished blaze.
In vain the sight, dejected to the ground,
Stoops for relief; thence hot ascending Steams
And keen Reflection pain. Deep to the root
Of vegetation parched, the cleaving fields.
And slippery lawn an arid hue disclose,
Blast Fancy's blooms, and wither even the soul.
Echo no more returns the cheerful sound
Of sharpening scythe: the Mower, sinking, heaps
O'er him the humid hay, with flowers perfumed:
And scarce a chirping Grasshopper is heard
Through the dumb mead. Distressful Nature pants.
The very Streams look languid from afar;
Or, through the unsheltered glade, impatient, seem
To hurl into the covert of the grove.
All-conquering Heat, oh intermit thy wrath!
And on my throbbing temples, potent thus,
Beam not so fierce! incessant still you flow,
And still another fervent flood succeeds,
Poured on the head profuse. In vain I sigh,
And restless turn, and look around for Night;
Night is far off; and hotter Hours approach.
Thrice happy he, who, on the sunless side
Of a romantic fountain, forest-crowned,
Beneath the whole collected shade reclines:
Or in the gelid caverns, woodbine-wrought,
And fresh bedewed with ever-spouting streams,
Sits coolly calm; while all the world without,
Unsatisfied, and sick, tosses in noon.
Emblem instructive of the virtuous Man,
Who keeps his tempered mind serene and pure,
And every passion aptly harmonized,
Amid a jarring world with vice inflamed.
Welcome, ye Shades! ye bowery Thickets, hail!
Ye lofty Pines! ye venerable Oaks!
Ye Ashes wild, resounding o'er the steep!
Delicious is your shelter to the soul,
As to the hunted Hart the sallying spring,
Or stream full flowing, that his swelling sides
Laves, as he floats along the herbaged brink.
Cool, through the nerves, your pleasing comfort glides;
The Heart beats glad; the fresh-expanded Eye
And Ear resume their watch; the Sinews knit;
And Life shoots swift through all the lightened limbs.
Thus up the mount, in airy vision rapt,
I stray, regardless whither; till the sound
Of a near Fall of water every sense
Wakes from the charm of thought: swift-shrinking back
I check my steps, and view the broken scene.
Smooth to the shelving brink a copious Flood
Rolls fair and placid; where, collected all
In one impetuous torrent, down the steep
It thundering shoots, and shakes the country round.
At first, an azure sheet, it rushes broad;
Then whitening by degrees, as prone it falls,
And from the loud-resounding rocks below
Dashed in a cloud of foam, it sends aloft
A hoary mist, and forms a ceaseless shower.
Nor can the tortured Wave here find repose:
But, raging still amid the shaggy rocks,
Now flashes o'er the scattered fragments, now
Aslant the hollow channel rapid darts;
And falling fast from gradual slope to slope,
With wild infracted course and lessened roar,
It gains a safer bed, and steals, at last,
Along the mazes of the quiet vale.
Invited from the cliff, to whose dark brow He clings, the steep-ascending Eagle soars, With upward pinions, through the flood of day; And, giving full his bosom to the blaze, Gains on the Sun; while all the tuneful Race, Smit by afflictive noon, disordered droop, Deep in the thicket; or, from bower to bower Responsive, force an interrupted strain. The Stock dove only through the forest cooes, Mournfully hoarse; oft ceasing from his plaint, Short interval of weary woe! again
The sad idea of his murdered Mate,
Struck from his side by savage Fowler's guile,
Across his fancy comes; and then resounds
A louder Song of sorrow through the grove.
Beside the dewy border let me sit,
All in the freshness of the humid air:
There on that hollowed rock, grotesque and wild,
An ample chair moss-lined, and over head
By flowering umbrage shaded; where the Bee
Strays diligent, and with the extracted balm
Of fragrant woodbine loads his little thigh.
Now, while I taste the sweetness of the shade,
While Nature lies around deep lulled in noon,
Now come, bold Fancy, spread a daring flight,
And view the wonders of the Torrid Zone:
Climes unrelenting! with whose rage compared,
Yon Blaze is feeble, and yon Skies are cool.
Ye Swains, now hasten to the hazel bank; Where, down yon dale, the wildly winding brook Falls hoarse from steep to steep. In close array, Fit for the thickets and the tangling shrub, Ye Virgins, come. For you their latest song The woodlands raise: the clustering nuts for you The Lover finds amid the secret shade; And, where they burnish on the topmost bough, With active vigor crushes down the tree; Or shakes them ripe from the resigning husk, A glossy shower and of an ardent brown, As are the ringlets of Melinda's hair: Melinda, formed with every grace complete;
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