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Mysterious round! what skill, what' Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings force divine,
Deep felt, in these appear! a simple train,
And all so forming an harmonious whole;
But wandering oft, with brute unconscious gaze,
Man marks not thee, marks not the
That, ever busy, wheels the silent
The fair profusion that o'erspreads the
Flings from the sun direct the flaming day;
Feeds every creature; hurls the tempests forth;
And, as on earth this grateful change revolves,
With transport touches all the springs of life.
Nature, attend! join every living soul, Beneath the spacious temple of the sky, In adoration join; and, ardent, raise One general song! To him, ye vocal gales,
Breathe soft, whose spirit in your fresh-
0. talk of him in solitary glooms;
Fills the brown shade with a religious
And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar,
His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trem-
And let me catch it as I muse along.
Ye softer floods, that lead the humid
Along the vale; and thou, majestic main,
oft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers,
mingled clouds to him, whose sun exalts,
Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints.
Ye forests bend, ye harvests wave, to him;
Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart,
As home he goes beneath the joyous
The long-resounding voice, oft breaking clear,
At solemn pauses, through the swelling bass;
And, as each mingling flame increases each,
In one united ardor rise to heaven. Or if you rather choose the rural shade, And find a fane in every sacred grove, There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay, The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre,
Still sing the God of seasons, as they roll.
For me, when I forget the darling theme,
Whether the blossom blows, the summer
SILENT nymph, with curious eye!
Over mead and over wood,
About his checkered sides I wind, And leave his brooks and meads behind,
And groves and grottos where I lay,
Now I gain the mountain's brow;
Old castles on the cliffs arise,