Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/90

 With warmest beam; and on your open front, And liberal eye, fits, from his dark retreat Inviting modest want. Nor, till invok'd Can restless goodness wait; your active search Leaves no cold wintry corner unexplor'd; Like silent-working, surprising oft The lonely heart with unexpected good. For you the roving spirit of the wind Blows Spring abroad; for you the teeming clouds Descend in gladsome plenty o'er the world; And the sun sheds his kindest rays for you, Ye flower of human race!—In these green days, Reviving sickness lifts her languid head; Life flows afresh; and young-ey'd Health exalts The whole creation round. Contentment walks The funny glade, and feels an inward bliss Spring o'er his mind, beyond the power of kings To purchase. Pure serenity apace Induces thought, and contemplation still. By swift degrees the love of nature works, And warms the bosom; till at last sublim'd To rapture, and enthusiastic heat, We feel the present, and taste The joy of God to see a happy world!

are the sacred feelings of thy heart, Thy heart inform'd by reason's purer ray, O, the friend! thy passions thus And meditations vary, as at large, Courting the Muse, thro' Hagley-Park thou strayest, Thy British Tempe! There along the dale, With Woods o'er-hung, and shag'd with mossy rocks, Whence on each hand the gushing waters play, And down the rough cascade white-dashing fall, Or