By Nature's all-refining hand prepar'd;
Of temper'd sun, and water, earth, and air, 635
In ever-changing composition mixt.
Such, falling frequent thro' the chiller night,
The fragrant stores, the wide-projected heaps
Of Apples, which the lusty-handed year,
Innumerous, o'er the blushing orchard shakes. 640
A various spirit, fresh, delicious, keen,
Dwells in their gelid pores; and, active, points
The piercing cyder for the thirsty tongue:
Thy native theme, and boon inspirer too,
Phillips, Pomona's bard, the second thou 645
Who nobly durst, in rhyme-unfetter'd verse,
With British freedom sing the British song;
How, from Silurian vats, high-sparkling wines
Foam in transparent floods; some strong, to cheer
The wintry revels of the labouring hind; 650
And tasteful some, to cool the summer-hours.
In this glad season, while his sweetest beams
The sun sheds equal o'er the meekened day;
Oh lose me in the green delightful walks
Of, Dodington! thy seat, serene and plain; 655
Where simple Nature reigns; and every view,
Diffusive, spreads the pure Dorsetian downs,
In boundless prospect; yonder shagg'd with wood,
Here rich with harvest, and there white with flocks!
Mean time the grandeur of thy lofty dome, 660
Far-splendid, seizes on the ravish'd eye.
New beauties rise with each revolving day;
New columns swell; and still the fresh Spring finds
New plants to quicken, and new groves to green.
Full of thy genius all! the Muses' seat; 665
Where in the secret bower, and winding walk,
For virtuous Young and thee they twine the bay.
Here
