Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/70

Rais'd thro' ten thousand different plastic tubes,
The balmy treasures of the former day.220

Then spring the living herbs, profusely wild
O'er all the deep-green earth, beyond the power
Of botanist to number up their tribes;
Whether he steals along the lonely dale
In silent search; or thro' the forest, rank225
With what the dull incurious weeds account,
Bursts his blind way; or climbs the mountain-rock,
Fir'd by the nodding verdure of its brow.
With such a liberal hand has Nature flung
Their seeds abroad, blown them about in winds,230
Innumerous mix'd them with the nursing mold,
The moistening current, and prolific rain.

But who their virtues can declare? Who pierce
With vision pure into these secret stores
Of health, and life, and joy? The food of man,235
While yet he liv'd in innocence, and told
A length of golden years, unflesh'd in blood,
A stranger to the savage arts of life;
Death, rapine, carnage, surfeit, and disease;
The Lord, and not the tyrant, of the world.240

The glad morning wak'd the gladden'd race
Of uncorrupted man, nor blush'd to see
The sluggard sleep beneath her sacred beam:
For their light slumbers gently fum'd away;
And up they rose as vigorous as the sun,245
Or to the culture of the willing glebe,
Or to the chearful tendance of the flock.
Meantime the song went round; and dance, and sport,
Wisdom and friendly talk, successive, stole
Their hours away: while in the rosy vale250