Nor undelighted by the boundless Spring Are the broad monsters of the foaming deep: From the deep ooze and gelid caverns rous'd, They flounce and tumble in unwieldy joy. Dire were the strain, and dissonant, to sing The cruel raptures of the savage kind; How, by this flame their native wrath sublim'd, They roam, amid the fury of their heart, The far-resounding waste in fiercer bands, And growl their horrid loves. But this, the theme I sing, enraptur'd, to the British fair, Forbids; and leads me to the mountain brow, Where sits the shepherd on the grassy turf, Inhaling, healthful, the descending sun. Around him feeds his many-bleating flock, Of various cadence; and his sportive lambs, This way and that convolv'd, in friskful glee, Their frolics play. And now the sprightly race Invites them forth; when swift, the signal given, They start away, and sweep the massy mound That runs around the hill; the rampart once Of iron war, in ancient barbarous times, When disunited Britain ever bled, Lost in eternal broil: ere yet she grew To this deep-laid indissoluble state, Where wealth and commerce lift the golden head; And, o'er our labors, liberty and law Impartial watch--the wonder of a world! What is this mighty breath, ye curious, say, That, in a powerful language, felt not heard, Instructs the fowls of heaven; and through their breast These arts of love diffuses? What, but God? Inspiring God! who, boundless spirit all, And unremitting energy, pervades, Adjusts, sustains, and agitates the whole. He ceaseless works alone, and yet alone Seems not to work; with such perfection fram'd Is this complex stupendous scheme of things. But, though conceal'd, to every purer eye The informing Author in his works appears: Chief, lovely Spring, in thee, and thy soft scenes, The smiling God is seen; while water, earth, And air attest his bounty--which exalts The brute creation to this finer thought, And annual melts their undesigning hearts Profusely thus in tenderness and joy. Still let my song a nobler note assume, And sing the infusive force of Spring on man, When heaven and earth, as if contending, vie To raise his being, and serene his soul, Can he forbear to join the general smile Of Nature? can fierce passions vex his breast, While every gale is peace, and every grove Is melody? Hence! from the bounteous walks Of flowing Spring, ye sordid sons of earth, Hard, and unfeeling of another's woe, Or only lavish to yourselves; away! But come, ye generous minds, in whose wide thought; Of all his works, creative bounty burns With warmest beam; and on your open front And liberal eye sits, from his dark retreat Inviting modest want. Nor till invok'd Can restless goodness wait: your active search