O fay what foft propitious hour
I beft may chufe to hail thy power, And court thy gentle fway? When Autumn, friendly to the Muse, Shall thy own modeft tints diffuse, And shed thy milder day.
When eve, her dewy ftar beneath, Thy balmy spirit loves to breathe, And every ftorm is laid;
If fuch an hour was e'er thy choice, Oft let me hear thy foothing voice Low whispering through the fhade.
ROM frozen climes, and endless tracts of fnow,
What present shall the Muse to Dorset bring, Or how, fo near the pole attempt to fing? The hoary Winter here conceals from fight All pleafing objects that to verfe invite. The hills and dale', and the delightful woods, The flow'ry plains, and filver ftreaming floods,
By fnow difguis'd, in bright confufion lie, And, with one dazzling waste, fatigue the eye. No gentle breathing breeze prepares the Spring, No birds within the defert region fing. The ships, unmov'd, the boist'rous winds defy, While rattling chariots o'er the oceanj fly. The vaft leviathan wants room to play, And spout his waters in the face of day;" The starving wolves along the main fea prowl, And to the moon in icy vallies howl. For many a fhining league the level main, Here spreads itself into a glaffy plain : There folid billows, of enormous size, Alps of green ice, in wild diforder rise. And yet but lately have I feen, e'en here, The Winter in a lovely dress appear.
Ere yet the clouds let fall the treafur'd fnow, Or winds begun thro' hazy kies to blow, At ev❜ning a keen eastern breeze arofe; And the defcending rain unfullied froze. Soon as the filent shades of night withdrew, The ruddy morn difclos'd at once to view The face of Nature in a rich disguise, And brighten'd every object to my eyes; For every shrub, and every blade of grafs, And every painted thorn, feem'd wrought in glafs, In pearls and rubies rich, the hawthorns fhow, While through the ice the crimson berries glow.
The thick-fprung reeds the watry marshes yield, Seem polifh'd lances in a hoftile field.
The ftag in limpid currents, with surprise, Sees chryftal branches on his forehead rise,
The fpreading oak, the beach, and tow'ring pine, Glaz'd over, in the freezing æther shine.
The frighted birds the rattling branches fhun, That wave and glitter in the diftant fun When if a fudden guft of wind arife, The brittle foreft into atoms flies:
The crackling wood beneath the tempeft bends, And in a fpangled fhow'r the prospect ends; Or, if a fouthern gale the region warm, And, by degrees, unbind the wintry charm, The traveller a miry country fees,
And journies fad beneath the drooping trees. Like fome deluded peasant Merlin leads Thro' fragrant bowers, and thro' delicious meads, While here enchanted gardens to him rife, And airy fabrics there attract his eyes. His wand'ring feet the magic paths pursue: And, while he thinks the fair illufion true, The tracklefs fcenes difperfe in fluid air, And woods, and wilds, and thorny ways appear: A tedious road, the weary wretch returns, And, as he goes, the tranfient vifion mourns.
Copenhagen,
March 9, 1709.
MMENSE Creator! whofe all-powerful hand Fram'd univerfal Being, and whofe eye
Saw, like thyfelf, that all things form'd were good; Where fhall the timorous bard thy praise begin, Where end the purest sacrifice of song,
And just thanksgiving?—The thought-kindling light, Thy prime production darts upon my mind Its vivifying beams, my heart illumines, And fills my foul with gratitude and Thee. Hail to the cheerful rays of ruddy morn,
That paint the streaky Eaft, and blithfome roufe The birds, the cattle, and mankind from rest! Hail to the freshness of the early breeze. And Iris dancing on the new fall'n dew! Without the aid of yonder golden globe Loft were the garnet's luftre, loft the lily, The tulip and auricula's spotted pride; Loff were the peacocks plumage to the fight So pleafing in its pomp and gloffy glow. O thrice illuftrious! were it not for thee Those panfies, that reclining from the dank, View thro' th' immaculate, pellucid ftream Their portraiture in the inverted heav'n,
Might as well change their tripple boast; the white, The purple, and the gold, that far outvie
The Eastern monarch's garb, even with the dock, Ev'n with the baleful hemlock's irkfome green. Without thy aid, without thy gladsome beams The tribes of woodland warblers would remain Mute on the bending branches, nor recite
The praise of Him, who, ere he form❜d their lord, Their voices tun'd to transport, wing'd their flight, And bade them call for nurture, and receive: And lo! they call; the blackbird and the thrush, The woodlark and the redbreaft jointly call; He hears and feeds their feather'd families, He feeds his fweet musicians,-nor neglects Th' invoking ravens in the greenwood wide: And tho' their throats coarse rattling hurt the car They mean, and leave ingratitude to man,→→ They mean it all for mufic, thanks and praise But not to all,-for hark the organs blow Their fwelling notes round the cathedral's dome, And grace th' harmonious choir, celeftial feaft To pious ears, and med'cine of the mind; The thrilling trebles and the manly base Join in accordance meet, and with one voice All to the facred fubject fuit their fong. While in each breaft fweet melancholy reigns Angelically penfive, till the joy
Improves and purifies; the folemn fcene
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