With warmest beam; and on your open front,
And liberal eye, fits, from his dark retreat
Inviting modest want. Nor, till invok'd
Can restless goodness wait; your active search880
Leaves no cold wintry corner unexplor'd;
Like silent-working Heaven, surprising oft
The lonely heart with unexpected good.
For you the roving spirit of the wind
Blows Spring abroad; for you the teeming clouds885
Descend in gladsome plenty o'er the world;
And the sun sheds his kindest rays for you,
Ye flower of human race!—In these green days,
Reviving sickness lifts her languid head;
Life flows afresh; and young-ey'd Health exalts890
The whole creation round. Contentment walks
The funny glade, and feels an inward bliss
Spring o'er his mind, beyond the power of kings
To purchase. Pure serenity apace
Induces thought, and contemplation still.895
By swift degrees the love of nature works,
And warms the bosom; till at last sublim'd
To rapture, and enthusiastic heat,
We feel the present Deity, and taste
The joy of God to see a happy world!900
These are the sacred feelings of thy heart,
Thy heart inform'd by reason's purer ray,
O Lyttelton, the friend! thy passions thus
And meditations vary, as at large,
Courting the Muse, thro' Hagley-Park thou strayest,905
Thy British Tempe! There along the dale,
With Woods o'er-hung, and shag'd with mossy rocks,
Whence on each hand the gushing waters play,
And down the rough cascade white-dashing fall,
Or
