O CE A N. A N D E. Let the fea make a noife, let the floods clap their hands. Pfal. xcviii. S I. WEET rural scene! At careless ease my limbs are spread; All nature still, But yonder rill; And lift'ning pines nod o'er my head : II. In profpect wide, The boundless tide! Waves cease to foam, and winds to roar; Without a breeze, The curling feas Dance on, in measure to the fhore. III. Who III. Who fings the fource Of wealth and force? Vaft field of commerce, and big war, Where wonders dwell! Where terrors fwell! And Neptune thunders from his car? IV. Where? Where are they, Has touch'd, and bid divinely rave? I fnatch the lyre, And plunge into the foaming wave. V. The wave refounds! The rock rebounds! The Nereids to my fong reply! I lead the choir, And they confpire, With voice and fhell, to lift it high. VI. They fpread in air Their bofoms fair, Their verdant treffes pour behind: The billows beat With nimble feet, With notes triumphant fwell the wind. VII. Who |