Why else the smiling infant train so blest,

Ere dear-bought knowledge ends the peace within, Or wild desire inflames the youthful breast,

Or ill propension ripens into sin ?

As to the bleating tenants of the field,

As to the sportive warblers on the trees,
To them their joys sincere their seasons yield,

And all their days and all their prospects please;

Such joys were mine when from the peopled streets,
Where on Thamesis' banks I liv'd immur'd,
The new blown fields that breath'd a thousand sweets,
To Surrey's wood-crown'd hills my steps allur'd:

O happy hours, beyond recovery fled !

What share I now, "that can your loss repay," While o'er my mind these glooms of thought are spread,

'And veil the light of life's meridian ray ?

Is there no power this darkness to remove?
The long-lost joys of Eden to restore ?

Or raise our views to happier seats above,

Where Fear, and Pain, and Death shall be no more?

Yes, those there are who know a Saviour's love
The long-lost joys of Eden can restore,

And raise their views to happier seats above,

Where Fear, and Pain, and Death shall be no more;

These grateful share the gift of Nature's hand: And in the varied scenes that round them shine, (The Fair, the Rich, the Awful, and the Grand) Admire th' amazing workmanship divine.

Blows not a flow'ret in th' enamel'd vale,
Shines not a pebble where the riv❜let strays;
Sports not an insect on the spicy gale,

But claims their wonder and excites their praise.

For them ev'n vernal nature looks more gay,
For them more lively hues the fields adorn;
To them more fair the fairest smile of day,

To them more sweet the sweetest breath of morn.

They feel the bliss that hope and faith supply: They pass serene th' appointed hours that bring The day that wafts them to the realms on high, The day that centers in eternal spring.

II. WRITTEN IN THE HOT WEATHER,

JULY, MDCCLVII.

By the Same.

THREE hours from noon the passing shadow shows,
The sultry breeze glides faintly o'er the plains ;
The dazzling aether fierce and fiercer glows,
And human nature scarce its rage sustains.

Now still and vacant is the dusty street,

And still and vacant where yon fields extend, Save where those swains, oppress'd with toil and heat, The grassy harvest of the mead attend.

Lost is the lively aspect of the ground,

Low are the springs, the reedy ditches dry; No verdant spot in all the vale is found,

Save what yon stream's unfailing stores supply.

?

Where are the flowers that made the garden gay
Where is their beauty, where their fragrance fled

Their stems relax, fast fall their leaves away,
They fade and mingle with their dusty bed:

All but the natives of the torrid zone,

What Afric's wilds, or Peru's fields display, Pleas'd with a clime that imitates their own, They lovelier bloom beneath the parching ray.

Where is wild nature's heart-reviving song,

That fill'd in genial Spring the verdant bowers? Silent in gloomy woods the feather'd throng

Pine through this long, long course of sultry hours.

Where is the dream of bliss by summer brought?
The walk along the riv❜let-water'd vale ?
The field with verdure clad, with fragrance fraught!
The sun mild-beaming, and the fanning gale?

The weary soul Imagination chears,

Her pleasing colors paint the future gay; Time passes on, the truth itself appears, The pleasing colors instant fade away :

In different seasons different joys we place,

And these shall Spring supply, and Summer these ; Yet frequent storms the bloom of Spring deface, And Summer scarcely brings a day to please.

O for some secret shady cool recess !

Some Gothic dome o'erhung with darksome trees, Where thick damp walls this raging heat repress;

Where the long isle invites the lazy breeze!

But why these 'plaints ?-Amid his wastes of sand, Far more than this the wandering Arab feels; Far more the Indian in Columbus' land,

While Phoebus o'er him rolls his fiery wheels :

Far more the sensible of mind sustains,

Rack'd with the poignant pangs of fear or shame; The hopeless lover, bound in beauty's chains, And he, whom envy robs of hard-earn'd fame:

He, who a father or a mother mourns,
Or lovely consort lost in early bloom;

He, whom the dreaded rage of fever burns,
Or slow disease leads lingering to the tomb.-

Lest man should sink beneath the present pain; Lest man should triumph in the present joy; For him th' unvarying "Laws of heaven ordain," Hope in his ills, and to his bliss alloy.

Fierce and oppressive is the sun we share,
Yet not unuseful to our humid soil;

Hence shall our fruits a richer flavor bear,

Hence shall our plains with riper harvests smile:

Reflect, and be content-for mankind's good Heaven gives the due degrees of drought or rain; To-morrow ceaseless showers may swell the flood, Nor soon yon sun rise blazing fierce again :