Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/186

 To hold a generous undiminish'd state; Too much in vain! hence of unequals bounds Impatient, and by tempting glory borne O'er every land, for every land their life Has flow'd profuse, their piercing genius plan'd, And swell'd the pomp of peace their faithful toil. As from their own clear north, in radiant streams, Bright over Europe bursts the Boreal Morn.

is there not some patriot, in whose power That best, that godlike luxury is placed, Of blessing thousands, thousands yet unborn, Thro' late posterity? some, large of soul, To chear dejected industry? to give A double harvest to the pining swain? And teach the labouring hand the sweets of toil? How, by the finest art, the native robe To weave; how, white as hyperborean snow, To form the lucid lawn; with venturous oar, How to dash wide the billow; nor look on, Shamefully passive, while Batavian fleets Defraud us of the glittering finny swarms. That heave our friths, and croud upon our shores; How all-enlivening trade to rouse, and wing The prosperous fail, from, every growing port, Uninjur'd, round the sea-incircled globe; And thus, in soul united as in name, Bid reign the mistress of the deep.

, there are such. And full on thee, , Her hope, her stay, her darling, and her boast, From her first patriots and her heroes sprung, Thy fond imploring country turns her eye: In thee, with all a mother's triumph, sees Her every virtue, every grace combin'd, Her