Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/143

 And vital lustre; that, with various ray, Lights up the clouds, those beauteous robes of heaven, Incessant roll'd into romantic shapes, The dream of waking fancy! Broad below, Cover'd with ripening fruits, and swelling fast Into the perfect year, the pregnant earth And all her tribes rejoice. Now the soft hour Of walking comes: for him who lonely loves To seek the distant hills, and there converse With Nature; there to harmonize his heart, And in pathetic song to breathe around The harmony to others. Social friends, Attun'd to happy unison of soul; To whose exalting eye a fairer world, Of which the vulgar never had a glimpse, Displays its charms; whose minds are richly fraught With philosophic stores, superior light; And in whose breast, enthusiastic, burns Virtue, the sons of interest deem romance; Now call'd abroad enjoy the falling day: Now to the verdant Portico of woods, To Nature's vast Lyceum, forth they walk; By that kind School where no proud master reigns, The full free converse of the friendly heart, Improving and improv'd. Now from the world, Sacred to sweet retirement, lovers steal, And pour their souls in transport, which the Of love approving hears, and calls it good. Which way,, shall we bend our course? The choice perplexes. Wherefore should we chuse? All is the fame with thee. Say, shall we wind Along the streams? or walk the smiling mead? Or court the forest-glades? or wander wild Among the waving harvests? or ascend, While radiant summer opens all its pride, Thy