SUMMER.

TO THE

SIR,

RIGHT HONOURABLE MR. DODINGTON,

ONE OF THE LORDS OF HIS MAJESTY'S TREASURY, ETC.

Ir is not my purpose, in this address, to run into the common tract of dedicators, and attempt a panegyric which would prove ungrateful to you, too arduous for me, and superfluous with regard to the world. To you it would prove ungrateful, since there is a certain generous delicacy in men of the most distinguished merit, disposing them to avoid those praises they so powerfully attract. And when I consider that a character in which the virtues, the graces, and the muses join their influence as much exceeds the expression of the most elegant and judicious pen, as the finished beauty does the representation of the pencil, I have the best reasons for declining such an arduous undertaking. As, indeed, it would be superfluous in itself; for what reader need to be told of those great abilities in the management of public affairs, and those amiable accomplishments in private life, which you so eminently possess? The general voice is loud in the praise of so many virtues, though posterity alone will do them justice. But may you, Sir, live long to illustrate your own fame by your own actions, and by them be transmitted to future times as the Pritish Mæcenas!

Your example has recommended poetry with the greatest, grace to the admiration of those who are engaged in the

highest and most active scenes of life: and this, though confessedly the least considerable of those exalted qualities that dignify your character, must be particularly pleasing to one whose only hope of being introduced to your regard is through the recommendation of an art in which you are a master. But I forget what I have been declaring above; and must, therefore, turn my eyes to the following sheets. I am not ignorant that, when offered to your perusal, they are put into the hands of one of the finest and, consequently, the most indulgent judges of the age: but, as there is no mediocrity in poetry, so there should be no limits to its ambition. I venture directly on the trial of my fame. If what I here present you has any merit to gain your approbation, I am not afraid of its success; and if it fails of your notice, I give it up to its just fate.

This advantage, at least, I secure to myself, an occasion of thus publicly declaring that I am, with the profoundest veneration,

Sir,

Your most devoted humble servant,
JAMES THOMSON.

SUMMER.

THE ARGUMENT.

The subject proposed-Invocation - Address to Mr. Dodington-An introductory reflection on the motion of the Heavenly Bodies; whence the succession of the Seasons-As the face of Nature in this season is almost uniform, the progress of the poem is a description of a Summer's Day-The Dawn-Sun-rising-Hymn to the Sun - Forenoon-Summer Insects described-Hay-making-Sheepshearing-Noon-day-A woodland retreat-Group of Herds and Flocks-A solemn Grove: how it affects a contemplative mind-A Cataract and rude Scene-View of Summer in the torrid zoneStorm of Thunder and Lightning-A Tale-The Storm over, a serene Afternoon-Bathing-Hour of walking-Transition to the prospect of a rich well-cultivated Country, which introduces a panegyric on Great Britain-Sun-set-Evening-Night-Summer Meteors-A Comet-The whole concluding with the praise of Philosophy.

Jam clarus occultum Andromedæ pater
Ostendit ignem : jam Procyon furit,
Et stella vesani Leonis,

Sole dies referente siccos.

Jam pastor umbras, cum grege languido,

Rivumque fessus quærit, et horridi

Dumeta Silvani: caretque

Ripa vagis taciturna ventis.

HORATII Carm. lib. iii. od. xxix. 17.

FROM brightening fields of ether fair disclosed,

Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes,

In pride of youth, and felt through Nature's depth :

He comes attended by the sultry hours,

And ever-fanning breezes, on his way;

While, from his ardent look, the turning Spring
Averts her blushful face; and earth and skies,

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All-smiling, to his hot dominion leaves.

Hence, let me haste into the mid-wood shade,

Where scarce a sunbeam wanders through the gloom;

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And on the dark green grass, beside the brink
Of haunted stream, that by the roots of oak
Rolls o'er the rocky channel, lie at large,

And sing the glories of the circling year.

Come, Inspiration, from thy hermit-seat,
By mortal seldom found! may Fancy dare,
From thy fix'd serious eye, and raptured glance
Shot on surrounding Heaven, to steal one look
Creative of the poet, every power

Exalting to an ecstasy of soul.

And thou, my youthful Muse's early friend,
In whom the human graces all unite:
Pure light of mind, and tenderness of heart;
Genius, and wisdom; the gay social sense,
By decency chastised; goodness and wit,
In seldom-meeting harmony combined;
Unblemish'd honour, and an active zeal
For Britain's glory, liberty, and man:
O Dodington! attend my rural song,
Stoop to my theme, inspirit every line,

And teach me to deserve thy just applause.

With what an awful world-revolving power

Were first the' unwieldy planets launch'd along
The' illimitable void! Thus to remain,

Amid the flux of many thousand years,

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That oft has swept the toiling race of men

And all their labour'd monuments away,
Firm, unremitting, matchless, in their course;

To the kind-temper'd change of night and day,
And of the seasons ever stealing round,

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Minutely faithful: such THE ALL-PERFECT HAND,
That poised, impels, and rules the steady WHOLE.

When now no more the' alternate Twins are fired,
And Cancer reddens with the solar blaze,
Short is the doubtful empire of the Night;
And soon, observant of approaching day,
The meek-eyed Morn appears, mother of dews,
At first faint-gleaming in the dappled east ;
Till far o'er ether spreads the widening glow;

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And, from before the lustre of her face,

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White break the clouds away. With quicken'd step,

Brown Night retires: young Day pours in apace,

And opens all the lawny prospect wide.

The dripping rock, the mountain's misty top,

Swell on the sight, and brighten with the dawn.

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Blue, through the dusk, the smoking currents shine;

And from the bladed field the fearful hare
Limps, awkward; while along the forest-glade
The wild deer trip, and often turning gaze
At early passenger. Music awakes

The native voice of undissembled joy;

And thick around the woodland hymns arise.
Roused by the cock, the soon-clad shepherd leaves
His mossy cottage, where with Peace he dwells;
And from the crowded fold, in order, drives
His flock, to taste the verdure of the morn.
Falsely luxurious, will not man awake;
And, springing from the bed of sloth, enjoy
The cool, the fragrant, and the silent hour,
To meditation due and sacred song?

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For is there aught in sleep can charm the wise?

To lie in dead oblivion, losing half

The fleeting moments of too short a life;

Total extinction of the' enlighten'd soul !
Or else, to feverish vanity alive,

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Wilder'd, and tossing through distemper'd dreams!
Who would in such a gloomy state remain
Longer than Nature craves; when every Muse
And every blooming Pleasure wait without,
To bless the wildly-devious morning-walk?
But yonder comes the powerful King of day,
Rejoicing in the cast. The lessening cloud,
The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow
Illumed with fluid gold, his near approach
Betoken glad. Lo! now, apparent all,
Aslant the dew-bright earth and colour'd air,
He looks in boundless majesty abroad;

And sheds the shining day, that burnish'd plays

On rocks, and hills, and towers, and wandering streams,
High-gleaming from afar. Prime cheerer, Light!
Of all material beings first, and best!

Efflux divine! Nature's resplendent robe !
Without whose vesting beauty all were wrapp'd
In unessential gloom; and thou, O Sun!
Soul of surrounding worlds! in whom best seen
Shines out thy Maker! may I sing of thee?

"T is by thy secret, strong, attractive force,
As with a chain indissoluble bound,
Thy system rolls entire: from the far bourn

E