SPRING. MADAM, TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE COUNTESS OF HERTFORD. I HAVE always observed that, in addresses of this nature, the general taste of the world demands ingenious turns of wit, and disguised artful periods, instead of an open sincerity of sentiment flowing in a plain expression. From what secret impatience of the justest praise, when bestowed on others, this often proceeds, rather than a pretended delicacy, is beyond my purpose here to inquire. But as nothing more foreign to the disposition of a soul sincerely pleased with the contemplation of what is beautiful and excellent, than wit and turn; I have too much respect for your ladyship's character, either to touch it in that gay, trifling manner, or venture on a particular detail of those truly amiable qualities of which it is composed. A mind exalted, pure, and elegant, a heart overflowing with humanity, and the whole train of virtues thence derived, that give a pleasing spirit to conversation, an engaging simplicity to the manners, and form the life to harmony, are rather to be felt, and silently admired, than expressed. I have attempted, in the following poem, to paint some of the most tender beauties and delicate appearances of nature; how much in vain, your ladyship's taste will, I am afraid, but too soon discover: yet would it still be a much easier task to find expression for all that variety of colour, form, and fragrance, which enrich the season I describe, than to speak the many nameless graces and native riches of a mind capable so much at once to relish solitude, and adorn society. To whom, then, could these sheets be more properly inscribed than to you, Madam, whose influence in the world can give them the protection they want, while your fine imagination, and intimate acquaintance with rural nature, will recommend them with the greatest advantage to your favourable notice? Happy, if I have hit any of those images and correspondent sentiments your calm evening walks, in the most delightful retirement, have oft inspired. I could add, too, that as this poem grew up under your encouragement, it has therefore a natural claim to your patronage. Should you read it with approbation, its music shall not droop; and should it have the good fortune to deserve your smiles, its roses shall not wither. But, where the subject is so tempting, lest I begin my poem before the Dedication is ended, I here break short, and beg leave to subscribe myself, with the highest respect, Madam, Your most obedient, humble servant, JAMES THOMSON. esper THE ARGUMENT. The subject proposed-Inscribed to the Countess of Hertford-The Season is described as it affects the various parts of Nature, ascending from the lower to the higher; and mixed with digressions arising from the subject-Its influence on inanimate Matter, on Vegetables, on brute Animals, and, last, on Man; concluding with a dissuasive from the wild and irregular passion of Love, opposed to that of a pure and happy kind. Et nunc omnis ager, nunc omnis parturit arbos; VIRGILII Bucol. eel. iii. 56. COME, gentle Spring, ethereal Mildness, come; Far to the north, and calls his ruffian blasts: At last from Aries rolls the bounteous sun, And the bright Bull receives him. Then no more Lifts the light clouds sublime, and spreads them thin, 30 Forth fly the tepid airs; and unconfined, Drives from their stalls, to where the well-used plough 35 There, unrefusing, to the harness'd yoke They lend their shoulder, and begin their toil, 40 Winds the whole work, and sidelong lays the glebe. White through the neighbouring fields the sower stalks, Be gracious, Heaven! for now laborious Man Think these lost themes unworthy of your ear: 45 50 55 In ancient times, the sacred plough employ'd The kings and awful fathers of mankind: And some, with whom compared your insect-tribes 60 * Have held the scale of empire, ruled the storm The plough, and, greatly independent, scorn'd 65 * "Unwearied" is the reading of editions subsequent to that of 1746. |