Think these low scenes unworthy of your ear:
Such themes as these the rural Maro sung55
To wide-imperial Rome, in the full height
Of elegance and taste, by Grece refin'd.
In ancient times, the sacred plow employ’d
The kings and awful fathers of mankind:
And some, with whom compar’d, your insect-tribes60
Are but the beings of a summer's day,
Have held the scale of empire, rul'd the storm
Of mighty war; then, with unwearied hand,
Disdaining little delicacies, seiz'd
The plow, and greatly independent liv'd.65
Ye generous Britons, venerate the plough!
And o'er your hills, and long withdrawing vales,
Let Autumn spread his treasures to the sun,
Luxuriant, and unbounded! As the sea,
Far thro' his azure turbulent domain,70
Your empire owns, and from a thousand shores
Wafts all the pomp of life into your ports;
So with superior boon may your rich soil,
Exuberant, Nature's better blessings pour
O'er every land, the naked nations cloathe,75
And be th' exhaustless granary of a world!
Nor thro' the lenient air this change,
Delicious, breathes; the penetrative sun,
His force deep-darting to the dark retreat
Of vegetation, sets the steaming Power80
At large, to wander o'er the vernant earth,
In various hues; but chiefly thee, gay Green!
Thou smiling Nature's universal robe!
United light and shade! where the sight dwells
With growing strength, and ever-new delight.85
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