I know no subject more elevating, more amazing, more ready to the poetical enthusiasm, the philosophical reflection, and the moral sentiment than the works of nature. Where can we meet such variety, such beauty, such magnificence?
Still let my Song a nobler Note assume
And sing th' infusive Force of Spring on Man; When Heaven and Earth, as if contending, vye 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?
All-Conquering Heat, o intermit thy Wrath! And on my throbbing Temples potent thus Beam not so fierce! Incessant still you flow, And still another fervent Flood succeeds, Pour'd on the Head profuse. In vain I sigh And restless turn, and look around for Night.
The pale descending Year, yet pleasing still, A gentler Mood inspires; for now the Leaf Incessant rustles from the mournful Grove, Oft startling such as, studious, walk below, And slowly circles thro' the waving Air.
Thus Winter falls, A heavy Gloom oppressive o'er the World, Thro' Nature shedding Influence malign, And rouses up the Seeds of dark Disease. The Soul of Man dies in him, loathing Life, And black with more than melancholy Views.