Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/121

 That on the high equator ridgy rise, Whence many a bursting stream auriferous plays: Majestic woods, of every vigorous green, Stage above stage, high-waving o'er the hills; Or to the far horizon wide diffus'd, A boundless deep immensity of shade. Here lofty trees, to ancient song unknown, The noble sons of potent heat and floods Prone-rushing from the clouds, rear high to Heaven Their thorny steams, and broad around them throw Meridian gloom. Here, in eternal prime, Unnumber'd fruits, of keen delicious taste And vital spirit, drink amid the cliffs, And burning lands that bank the shrubby vales, Redoubled day, yet in their rugged coats A friendly juice to cool its rage contain.

me, Pomona! to thy citron-groves; To where the lemon and the piercing lime, With the deep orange, glowing thro' the green, Their lighter glories blend. Lay me reclin'd Beneath the spreading tamarind that shakes, Fann'd by the breeze, its fever-cooling fruit. Deep in the night the massy locust sheds, Quench my hot limbs; or lead me thro' the maze, Embowering endless, of the Indian fig; Or thrown at gayer ease, on some fair brow, Let me behold, by breezy murmurs cool'd, Broad o'er my head the verdant cedar wave, And high palmetos lift their graceful shade. O stretch'd amid these orchards of the sun, Give me to drain the cocoa's milky bowl, And from the palm to draw its freshening wine! More bounteous far than all the frantic juice Which Bacchus pours. Nor, on its slender twigs Low-