Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/185

 Infinite wings! till all the plume-dark air, And rude resounding shore are one wild cry.

the plain harmless native his small flock, And herd diminutive of many hues, Tends on the little island's verdant swell, The shepherd's sea-girt reign; or, to the rocks Dire-clinging, gathers his ovarious food; Or sweeps the fishy shore; or treasures up The plumage, rising full, to form the bed Of luxury. And here a while the Muse, High-hovering o'er the broad cerulean scene, Sees, in romantic view: Her airy mountains, from the waving main, Invested with a keen diffusive sky, Breathing the soul acute; her forests huge, Incult, robust, and tall, by Nature's hand Planted of old: her azure lakes between, Pour'd out extensive, and of watry wealth Full; winding deep, and green, her fertile vales; With many a cool translucent brimming flood Wash'd lovely, from the Tweed (pure parent-stream, Whose pastoral banks first wak'd my Doric reed, With, silvan Jed, thy tributary brook) To where the north-inflated tempest foams O'er Orca's or Betubium's highest peak: Nurse of a people, in misfortune's school Train'd up to hardy deeds; soon visited By Learning, when before the Gothic rage She took her western flight. A manly race, Of unsubmitting spirit, wise, and brave; Who still thro' bleeding ages struggled hard, (As well unhappy can attest, Great patriot-hero! ill-requited chief!) To