Conflicting foon would crush the shatter'd globe,
And turn earth's flaming beauties into duft.

From heaven's bright walks, and fcenes above the sky,
The mufe defcends to humble vales below.

Spirit divine affift me while I roam

Thro' arching fhades and fcented beds of flowers
That bloom around, and breathe their foft perfumes,
Shedding their morning incenfe. Here a while

Let fancy range, enamour'd with the scene,
Where nature, fmiling in her best attire,

Puts on her gayeft robes to court the eye

Her elegance and beauties to admire.

How fweet, how lovely, with what glories crown'd! Here in a careless dress the nymph appears

Irregular, and negligently gay :

Proud with fuperior luftre; when the shines,

She fummons all the fifter arts to lend

Their kind affiftance in a nicer taste

Neatly to drefs and cultivate her charms.
Thefe beds, the green apartments, fhe defign

To lodge her common ftrangers---deftin'd thofe
The curious rooms of ftate to entertain

Her nobler guests; the vifiters fhe treats

With

With more diftinguish'd honours. Here my eye
Shall oft expatiate, o'er thefe verdant lawns
My steps as often wander, brushing now
Thro' thickets, and now loft among the shades
That cool me, traverfing the foreft's glade:
Tho' oft, to vary my delight, I make

Excurfions from this beauteous fcene, yet here,
Indulgent heav'n, to footh the cares of life,
Oh! may I ever fix my lov'd abode.

What sweets are thefe which gratefully diffuse
Their fragrance round? Arabia's richest gums
Scarce emulate these odours. "Tis the flow'rs,
The incenfe of the garden's breath, that sheds
This balmy sweetness; 'tis the jeff'mine's leaf
Her opening bloffoms kindly that unite
Their mingled odours fweetly to embalm
Our morning walks, and to perfume the eve.---
Say, while all nature fmiles, calls not this scene
The fluggard from his couch--whose head would lie
Diffolv'd in fenfeless flumbers, when the morn's
Nectarious fmells invites him to partake

A feast of fragrancy? Before the fun,
The quick advances of the fervent day

Drink and foon exhale with fultry rays

up,

The volatile perfumes the morn has pour'd

O'er all the verdant landscape.---Short the treat,
And fugitive those joys, prepar'd alone

To feast the wakeful eye; if shut till noon

The languid flowers all droop, their fragrance dies,
Quite diffipated by the scorching beams

Shot from the fierce meridian fun, that burns
Their beauties up, exhales their humid sweets,
And melts the air into a liquid fire.

See the great parent of mankind, when morn
First opes the chrystal curtains of the sky
When rifing from his dewy bed, he hails
The new return of light, in raptures view'd
The vernal flowers that round his Eden bloom.
Oh! hear him thus address his beauteous bride
Still flumb'ring on her verdant couch reclin'd!

Arife, my fair one! greet the opening day!
Awake, the morning fhines, and the fresh field
• Calls you!---Ye lose the prime to mark how spring
The tended plants, how blows the citron grove
That drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed

• How

• How nature paints her colours, how the bee* • Sits on the bloom extracting liquid fweets.'

How soft a fragrance does the morning breath From off each spicy border, to the smell How grateful, nor less pleasing to the eye, The bloom of opening flowers.----Kind nature here In nice proportion all her favours deals; Those gales around the blissful garden pours, Neither too ftrong the organs to oppress,

Nor

yet fo faint the fenfes to elude.

How often is the fated palate cloy'd

At the rich fumptuous feaft, how foon offend
The loathed difhes which laft moment pleas'd?
But the high relish which each sense partakes
From nature's gifts the appetite ne'er tire,
Which please it more the more they are enjoy'd.
E'en luxury itself, when feafting here,

Is guiltless, and esteem'd a crime no more.
These balmy sweets at once each sense regale
Inftead of hurting, the foul's powers elate

To feed on pleasures pure and more refin'd.

* Milton.

E z

What

What vivid colours these! some nobly bold,
Some delicately languid! what a glow
Is kindled in thofe leaves, what gloffy beams
Shine in that beauteous bud! In one I view
The ruby, with her bleeding radiance fair,
In this the faphire, tinctur'd o'er with blue;
All flaming with fuch rich and radiant dies
As caft a fhade o'er all the boasted scenes
The painter's nobleft pencil ever drew,

And rob them of their beauties, vanish'd all
Amidst a group
of flowers whenever seen.
The skill how masterly that has difpos'd
The varying tints, fome carelessly display'd
Around the foliage with a dash of eafe;
Some, finish'd by the touch of nicest art,
More accurate unfold their mingled dies;
But, whether nicely blended, or arrang'd,
Or foften'd, or contrafted, they difclofe
A skilful taste that never fails to please,
A beauteous elegance that always charms.
How fine the texture of the web is wove
On which its shining treasures are display'd!
Say, can the Perfian looms a bloom unfold

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