But all are under One. One spirit--His Who bore the platted thorns with bleeding brows--Rules universal nature. Not a flower But shows some touch in freckle, streak, or stain, Of His unrivalled pencil. He inspires Their balmy odours and imparts their hues, And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes, In grains as countless as the sea-side sands, The forms with which He sprinkles all the earth.
Happy who walks with Him! whom, what he finds Of flavour or of scent in fruit or flower, Or what he views of beautiful or grand In nature, from the broad majestic oak To the green blade that twinkles in the sun, Prompts with remembrance of a present God.
His presence, who made all so fair, perceived, Makes all still fairer. As with Him no scene Is dreary, so with Him all seasons please.
Though winter had been none had man been true, And earth be punished for its tenant's sake, Yet not in vengeance; as this smiling sky, So soon succeeding such an angry night, And these dissolving snows, and this clear stream, Recovering fast its liquid music, prove.
Who then, that has a mind well strung and tuned To contemplation, and within his reach A scene so friendly to his favourite task, Would waste attention at the chequered board, His host of wooden warriors to and fro Marching and counter-marching, with an eye As fixt as marble, with a forehead ridged And furrowed into storms, and with a hand Trembling, as if eternity were hung In balance on his conduct of a pin?
Nor envies he aught more their idle sport, Who pant with application misapplied To trivial toys, and, pushing ivory balls Across the velvet level, feel a joy Akin to rapture, when the bauble finds Its destined goal of difficult access.
Nor deems he wiser him, who gives his noon To Miss, the Mercer's plague, from shop to shop Wandering, and littering with unfolded silks The polished counter, and approving none, Or promising with smiles to call again.
Nor him, who, by his vanity seduced, And soothed into a dream that he discerns The difference of a Guido from a daub, Frequents the crowded auction. Stationed there As duly as the Langford of the show, With glass at eye, and catalogue in hand, And tongue accomplished in the fulsome cant And pedantry that coxcombs learn with ease, Oft as the price-deciding hammer falls He notes it in his book, then raps his box, Swears 'tis a bargain, rails at his hard fate That he has let it pass--but never bids.
Here unmolested, through whatever sign The sun proceeds, I wander; neither mist, Nor freezing sky, nor sultry, checking me, Nor stranger intermeddling with my joy.
Even in the spring and play-time of the year That calls the unwonted villager abroad With all her little ones, a sportive train, To gather king-cups in the yellow mead, And prank their hair with daisies, or to pick A cheap but wholesome salad from the brook, These shades are all my own. The timorous hare, Grown so familiar with her frequent guest, Scarce shuns me; and the stock-dove unalarmed Sits cooing in the pine-tree, nor suspends His long love-ditty for my near approach.
Drawn from his refuge in some lonely elm That age or injury has hollowed deep, Where on his bed of wool and matted leaves He has outslept the winter, ventures forth To frisk awhile, and bask in the warm sun, The squirrel, flippant, pert, and full of play.
He sees me, and at once, swift as a bird, Ascends the neighbouring beech; there whisks his brush, And perks his ears, and stamps and scolds aloud, With all the prettiness of feigned alarm, And anger insignificantly fierce.
The heart is hard in nature, and unfit For human fellowship, as being void Of sympathy, and therefore dead alike To love and friendship both, that is not pleased With sight of animals enjoying life, Nor feels their happiness augment his own.
The bounding fawn that darts across the glade When none pursues, through mere delight of heart, And spirits buoyant with excess of glee;The horse, as wanton and almost as fleet, That skims the spacious meadow at full speed, Then stops and snorts, and throwing high his heels Starts to the voluntary race again;The very kine that gambol at high noon, The total herd receiving first from one, That leads the dance, a summons to be gay, Though wild their strange vagaries, and uncouth Their efforts, yet resolved with one consent To give such act and utterance as they may To ecstasy too big to be suppressed--These, and a thousand images of bliss, With which kind nature graces every scene Where cruel man defeats not her design, Impart to the benevolent, who wish All that are capable of pleasure pleased, A far superior happiness to theirs, The comfort of a reasonable joy.
Man scarce had risen, obedient to His call Who formed him from the dust, his future grave, When he was crowned as never king was since.
God set His diadem upon his head, And angel choirs attended. Wondering stood The new-made monarch, while before him passed, All happy and all perfect in their kind, The creatures, summoned from their various haunts To see their sovereign, and confess his sway.
Vast was his empire, absolute his power, Or bounded only by a law whose force 'Twas his sublimest privilege to feel And own, the law of universal love.
He ruled with meekness, they obeyed with joy.
No cruel purpose lurked within his heart, And no distrust of his intent in theirs.
So Eden was a scene of harmless sport, Where kindness on his part who ruled the whole Begat a tranquil confidence in all, And fear as yet was not, nor cause for fear.
But sin marred all; and the revolt of man, That source of evils not exhausted yet, Was punished with revolt of his from him.
Garden of God, how terrible the change Thy groves and lawns then witnessed! every heart, Each animal of every name, conceived A jealousy and an instinctive fear, And, conscious of some danger, either fled Precipitate the loathed abode of man, Or growled defiance in such angry sort, As taught him too to tremble in his turn.
