And forests seem, impatient, to demand The promis'd sweetness. Man superior walks Amid the glad creation, musing praise, And looking lively gratitude. At last, The clouds consign their treasures to the fields, And, softly shaking on the dimpled pool Prelusive drops, let all their moisture flow, In large effusion, o'er the freshen'd world. The stealing shower is scarce to patter heard By such as wander through the forest walks, Beneath the umbrageous multitude of leaves. But who can hold the shade, while Heaven descends In universal bounty, shedding herbs, And fruits, and flowers, on Nature's ample lap? Swift fancy fir'd anticipates their growth; And, while the milky nutriment distills, Beholds the kindling country color round. [Illustration: The shower is scarce to patter heard] Thus all day long the full-distended clouds Indulge their genial stores, and well-shower'd earth Is deep-enrich'd with vegetable life; Till, in the western sky, the downward sun Looks out, effulgent, from amid the flush Of broken clouds, gay-shifting to his beam. The rapid radiance instantaneous strikes The illumin'd mountain; through the forest streams; Shakes on the floods; and in a yellow mist, Far smoking o'er the interminable plain, In twinkling myriads lights the dewy gems. Moist, bright, and green, the landscape laughs around Full swell the woods; their every music wakes, Mix'd in wild concert, with the warbling brooks Increas'd, the distant bleatings of the hills, The hollow lows responsive from the vales, Whence blending all the sweeten'd zephyr springs Meantime, refracted from yon eastern cloud, Bestriding earth, the grand ethereal bow Shoots up immense; and every hue unfolds, In fair proportion running from the red To where the violet fades into the sky. Here, awful Newton, the dissolving clouds Form, fronting on the sun, thy showery prism; And to the sage-instructed eye unfold The various twine of light, by thee disclos'd From the white mingling maze. Not so the swain: He wondering views the bright enchantment bend, Delightful, o'er the radiant fields, and runs To catch the falling glory; but amaz'd Beholds the amusive arch before him fly, Then vanish quite away. Still night succeeds, A soften'd shade; and saturated earth Awaits the morning beam, to give to light, Rais'd through ten thousand different plastic tubes, The balmy treasures of the former day. 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 through the forest, rank 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.