Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/239

Rh Still sing the, as they roll. For me, when I forget the darling theme, Whether the blossom blows, the summer-ray, Russets the plain, inspiring Autumn gleams; Or Winter rises in the blackening east; Be my tongue mute, may fancy paint no more, And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat!

fate command me to the farthest verge Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes, Rivers unknown to song; where first the sun Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam Flames on th' Atlantic isles; 'tis nought to me; Since is ever present, ever felt, In the void waste as in the city full; And where vital spreads there must be joy. When even at last the solemn hour shall come, And wing my mystic flight to future worlds, I chearful will obey! there, with new powers, Will rising wonders sing; I cannot go Where not smiles around, Sustaining all yon orbs and all their sons, From seeming Evil still educing Good, And Better thence again, and Better still, In infinite progression. But I lose Myself in, in ! Come then, expressive silence, muse praise.