True, that, man for man, a husbandman’s plot Might seem, in measurement, a smaller plot Than is now allowed; but reckon by yield, And how unequal is the present lot!” Not without cause the impulse to repine That we live in times of weakness—decline Throughout—in wisdom, honest cheer, and worth— Ev’n in fruitfulness of a shrivelled vine. But look at home ere you begin to ring Changes on offence from without; to bring Indictments against Fortune and the Gods; While none’s in fault but Earth herself—poor thing! Primeval Man Bk. V. vv. 781-1159 In the beginning Earth at her own will Spread a verdant glitter on plain and hill. Flowery meadows shone, gay, birthday sheen, Many-coloured embroidery of green. Meanwhile fresh germs were nursing strength beyond The modest grass that carpeted the ground. In them all a strange, a wild yearning woke To taste upper air; from the soil trees broke. Ah the sense of liberty, the keen zest Of a roaming instinct that stirred Earth’s breast! Thus she by herself in bush and tall grove Probed the mystery of the realm above; Foliage anticipating in space The down and feathers of a wingéd race. Next, in many, manifold modes, not come From salt pools, or sky-dropped, but from the womb— Bewildering variety of birth— Of the one universal Mother, Earth, Life, under impulses of rain, heat, light, Found organs of movement, even of flight. Nor yet is her inventiveness outworn; Still, through the same forces, are fresh forms born. But well it may have been that in old days, When Earth was quicker, livelier, in ways, Air larger, the diversity in kind Was more, the size greater, than now we find, Vitality faster in ev’rything. Thus, eggs would be hatched by the sun in Spring, As the cicala strips its body bare Of its fine coat, and needs no mother’s care. And now Earth’s motherliness that had first Found its scope in herbage, in due course nursed Human life itself. Wombs from moist heat grew Soil-fixed by roots that nutriment thence drew. This children, when they broke forth, sucked, and then, Issuing to air, walked erect as Men. Owing thus to one source—Earth’s breast—their milk, For clothes her breath, for couch turf soft as silk. Fit season for creative pow’rs to wake, When cold did not numb, gusts confusion make, And unlike natures could in peace assume Their just traits, and find, without jostling, room. With fair intervals since the birth of Man, Almost each beast and bird we know began To range mountains and air, although at length Earth, like to mortal mothers, waned in strength. Change is Nature’s prime law; stage follows stage; And the engine by which she works is age. A plant from flower droops into decay; Another from dust blossoms for its day. Earth is in endless flux; she cannot bear Qualities once loved; kinds are not which were.