Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/70

 Rais'd thro' ten thousand different plastic tubes, The balmy treasures of the former day.

spring the living herbs, profusely wild O'er all the deep-green earth, beyond the power Of botanist to number up their tribes; Whether he steals along the lonely dale In silent search; or thro' the forest, rank With what the dull incurious weeds account, Bursts his blind way; or climbs the mountain-rock, Fir'd by the nodding verdure of its brow. With such a liberal hand has Nature flung Their seeds abroad, blown them about in winds, Innumerous mix'd them with the nursing mold, The moistening current, and prolific rain.

who their virtues can declare? Who pierce With vision pure into these secret stores Of health, and life, and joy? The food of man, While yet he liv'd in innocence, and told A length of golden years, unflesh'd in blood, A stranger to the savage arts of life; Death, rapine, carnage, surfeit, and disease; The Lord, and not the tyrant, of the world.

glad morning wak'd the gladden'd race Of uncorrupted man, nor blush'd to see The sluggard sleep beneath her sacred beam: For their light slumbers gently fum'd away; And up they rose as vigorous as the sun, Or to the culture of the willing glebe, Or to the chearful tendance of the flock. Meantime the song went round; and dance, and sport, Wisdom and friendly talk, successive, stole Their hours away: while in the rosy vale