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Had left the dungeon of eternal night,

"fervi Till black with thunder all the South descends. i spemo da Scarce in a show'rless day the heavens indulge Our melting clime ; except the baleful Eaft Withers the tender spring, and fourly checks

11 The fancy of the year. Our fathers talk, Of summers, balmy airs, and skies ferene. Good Heaven!, for what unexpiated crimes This dismal change! The brooding elements Do they, your pow'rful ministers of wrath, Prepare fome fierce exterminating plague ? Or is it fix'd in the decrees above That lofty Albion melt into the main ? Indulgent nature! O diffolve this yloom! Bind in eternal adamant the winds That drown or wither; give the genial West To breathe, and in its turn the sprightly North: And

may once more the circling seasons rule The year; not mix in ev'ry monitrous day.

Meantime, the moist malignity to shun
Of burthen'd skies, mark where the dry champaign
Swells into cheerful hills; where marjoram
And thyme, the love of bees, perfume the air ;
And where the cynorrhodon with the rose
For fragrance vies; for in the thirsly soil
Most fragrant breathe the aromatic tribes.
There bid thy roofs high on the basking steep
Ascend ; there light thy hospitable fires.
And let them fée the winter morn 'arife ;
The summer evening blushing in the west: vih
While with unbrageous oaks the ridge behind
O'erhung, defends you from the bluh ring north,
And bleak affliction of the peevish east.
Oh! when the growling winds contend, and all
The founding forest ftuctuates in the form;
To sink in warm repose, and hear the din


* The wild rose, or that which grows on the common briar,

Howl o'er the steady battlements, delights
Above the luxury of vulgar sleep.
The murmuring rivulet, and the hoarfer Itrain
Of waters rushing o'er the flippery rocks,
Will nightly lull you to ambrosial reft.
To please the fancy is no trifling good,
Where health is studied; for whatever moves
The mind with calm delight, promotes the just
And natural movements of th’harmonious frame.
Besides, the sportive brook for ever shakes
The trembling air, that floats from hill to hill,
From vale to mountain, with incessant change
Of purest element, refreshing still
Your airy seat, and uninfected gods.
Chiefly for this I praise the man who build ;
High on the breezy ridge, whose lofty fides
Th'ethereal deep with endless billows chafes.
His purer mansion nor contagious years
Shall reach, nor deadly putrid airs annoy.

But may no fogs, from lake or fenny plain,
my hiil! and wherefoe'r

you Whether on sun-burnt Epsom, or the plains Wash'd by the filent Lee; in Chelsea low, Or high Blackheath with wint'ry winds alfailid, Dry be your house; but airy more than warm. Else ev'ry breath of ruder wind will strike Your tender body thro' with rapid pains ; Fierce coughs will tease you, hoarseness bind your voice; Or moift Gravedo load your aching brows. These to defy, and all the fates that dwell In cloister'd air, tainted with steaming life, Let lofty cielings grace your ample rooms And still at azure noontide may your

dome At ev'ry window drink the liquid sky.

Need we the funny situation here,
And theatres open to the south, commend ?
Here, where the morning's misty breath infests
More than the torrid noon? How fickly grow,

'build ;


How pale, the plants in those ill-fated vales
That, circled round with the gigantic heap
Of mountains, never felt, nor ever hope
To feel, the genial vigour of the sun!
While on the neighb’ring hill the rose inflames
The verdant fpring; in virgin beauty blows
The tender lily, languishingly sweet;
O’er ev'ry hedge the wanton woodbine roves.
And autumn ripens in the summer's ray.
Nor less the warmer living tribes demand
The foft’ring sun; whose energy divine
Dwells not in mortal fire ; whose gen'rous heat
Glows thro' the mass of grosser elements,
And kindles into life the pond'rous spheres.
Cheer'd by thy kind invigorating warmth,
We court thy beams, great majesty of day ;
If not the soul, the regent of this world,
Firit-born of heaven, and only less than God!

ENOUGH of Air, A defert fubje&t now,
Rougher and wilder, rises to my fight.
A barren waste, where not a garland grows
To bind the Muse's brow; not even a proud
Stupendous solitude frowns o'er the heath,
Torouse a noble horror in the foul :
But rugged paths fatigue, and error leads
Thro' endless labyrinths the devious feet,
Farewel, ethereal fields ! the humbler arts
Of life; the Table and the homely Gods
Demand any fong. Elyban gales, adieu !

The blood, the fountain whence the spirits flow,
The gen’rons stream that waters ev'ry part,
And motion, vigour, and warm life conveys.
To every particle that moves or lives;


This vital fluid, through unnumber'd tubes
Pour'd by the heart, and to the heart again
Refunded ; scourg'd for ever round and round ;
Enrag'd with heat and toil, at last forgets
Its balmy nature ; virulent and thin

grows ; and now, but that a thousand gates
Are open to its flight, it would deltroy
The parts it cherish'd and repair’d before.
Besides, the flexible and tender tubes.
Melt in the mildelt molt nectareous tide
That ripening nature rolls ;, as in the Atream
Its crumbling banks; but what the vital force
Of plastic fluids hourly batters down,
That very force, those plastic particles
Rebuild: fo mutable the fate of man.
For this the watchful appetite was given,
Daily with fresh materials to repair
This unavoidable

expence of life,
This necessary waste of flesh and blood.
Hence the concoctive pow'rs, with various art,
Subdue the cruder elements to chyle ;
The chyle to blood; the foamy purple tide
To liquors, which thro’ finer arteries
To different parts their winding course pursue ;
To try new changes, and new forms pui on,
Or for the public, or fome private use.

Nothing so foreign but th'athletic hind
Can labour into blood. The hungry meal
Alone he fears, or aliments too thin;
By vi'lent pow'rs too easily subdued,
Too soon expellid. His daily labour thaws
To friendly chyle the most rebellious mass
That salt can harden, or the smoke of years ;
Nor does his gorge the rancid bacon rue,
Nor that which Čeltria fends, tenacious pafte
Of solid milk. But ye of fofter clay,
Infirm and delicate ! and ye who waste
With pale and bloated sloth the tedious day!


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Avoid the flubborn aliment, avoid
The full repait ; and let fagacious age
Grow wiser, lesson'd by the dropping teeth.

Half subtiliz'd to chyle, the liquid food
Readieft obeys th'assimilating pow'rs;
And soon the tender vegetable mass
Relents; and soon the young of those that tread
The steadfast earth, or cleave the green abyss,
Or pathless sky. And if the Steer must fall,
In youth and sanguine vigour let him die ;
Nor stay till rigid age or heavy ails
Absolve him ill-requited from the yoke.
Some with high forage and luxuriant ease
Indulge the veteran ox; but wiser thou,
From the bald mountain or the barren downs
Expect the flocks by frugal nature fed ;
A race of purer blood, with exercise
Refin'd, and scanty fare : for, old or young,
The stall d are never healthy, nor the cramm’d.
Not all the culinary arts can tame
To wholesome food th'abominable growth
Of rest and gluttony ; the prudent taste.
Rejects like bane such loathsome lusciousness,
The languid ftomach curses even the pure
Delicious fat, and all the race of oil :
For more the oily aliments relax
Its feeble tone ; and with the eager lymph
(Fond to incorporate with all it meets)
Coyly they mix, and thun with flipp'ry wiles
The woo’ embrace. Th’irresoluble oil,
So gentle late and blandishing, in floods
Of rancid bile o'erflows: what tumults hence.
What horrors rise, were nauseous to relate.
Chuse leaner viands, ye whose jovial make
Too fast the gummy nutriment imbibes :
Chuse fober meals, and rouse to active life
Your cumbrous clay; nor on th' enfeebling down,
Irrefolute, protract the morning hours,


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