Classic Poem

As I range these spacious Fields,
Feast on all that Nature yields;
Ev'ry Thing conspires Delight,
Charms my Smell, my Taste, my Sight;
Ev'ry rural Sound I hear
Sooths my Soul, and tunes my Ear.

Yonder azure Hills arising,
Peeping thro' the wide Horizon;
Strive for the Priority,
Which shall first salute my Eye:
Gentle Winds, each Sweet adorning,
Breathe the wholsome Breath of Morning;
Birds, on blossom'd Hawthorns , sing
Jocund Carols to the Spring;
Hopping o're the fragrant Lawn,
Merrily salute the Dawn,
And with their Musick seem to chide
Man's Ingratitude and Pride.

O venerable Solitude !
Best of Blessings, chiefest Good!
Chiefest Good! for in You is
Ev'ry Part of Happiness:
No racking Passions here controul,
The peaceful Surface of my Soul;
Nothing can my Bliss destroy,
Whilst I thus my self enjoy.
E'er the Heavens or Earth were made,
Or their vast Foundations laid;
E'er Angels yet were taught to sing,
To tune the Lyre, or touch the String;
In God-like Pomp the great Three-One
Reign'd in their Solitude alone.

Tell me, all ye mighty Wise,
Ye Governours of Colleges?
What deeper Wisdom can ye know,
Than easy Nature's Works here show?
All the lonesome Night ye pore,
Philosophick Sages o'er:
To what prodigious vast Account
Can all your mighty Works amount?
The wife Man was as wife as You,
And yet his Wisdom was, He nothing knew .

Come, ye Covetous! ye Proud!
Come ye wise fantastick Croud!
And as your Follies ye discern,
Nature's plain Instructions learn,

See, this River, as it goes,
With what Eloquence it flows?
How clear the Water, and how fine!
How deep, how rapidly serene!
But should it fearful of Decay,
Stagnate, and stop up its Way;
No longer would its Streams appear,
Wholsome, delicate, or clear:
But bury'd in a Quagmire sink,
Or in a choaking Deluge stink.

Believe me, Life's the very fame,
The very Image of this Stream:
If of future Fortune, fearless,
If of present Changes, careless,
It uninterrupted goes,
How sweet! and how serene it flows!
But if stopt with these Restraints,
Present Ills, and future Wants;
If anxious Doubts, and clogging Care,
Betray our Reason to Despair;
Life's dull Enjoyment only cloys,
And painfully it self destroys.

View this reverential Shade!
Sacred to Retirement made!
What surprizing Sweets surround me!
What Varieties confound me!
Bless'd, in this obscure Abode,
I think my self almost a God!
I think my self so too the more,
Because I'm out of Envy's Pow'r!
And if Angels envious be,
They alone dare Envy me;
And doing so, they let me know
I am happier here below.

Where is self-enamour'd Pride!
Tinsel Vanity beside:
In what gilded Rooms of State,
Shaking with the Storms of Fate,
Do they now luxurious lye,
Bound in purple Slavery?
Can their artificial Flowers
Rival these delightful Bowers?
Compar'd with Nature's Charms, how faint
Is their mimick-colour'd Paint?
I, the living Forest have,
They, the empty Shadows crave;
Yet, in spite of all their Theft,
I too have better Shadows left.

Behold this little scrubby Thorn,
Of Verdure destitute, forlorn,
As if it were e'en Nature's Scorn.
Yet this, is of much more possess'd,
Than any Tyrant of the East;
Is richer; nay, is happier far
Than Oriental Monarchs are:
Can, with equal Grandeur, show,
Its brillant Head with Diamondsg low:
And contented, knows, next Day
Doubly will the Loss repay,
If Fortune snatches it away.
Princely Honours thus remain,
And thus they flee — but ne'er return again —

By this flow'ry Meadow walking,
To this pratling Echo talking;
As along the Stream I pass,
Gazing on my floating Face;
Lo! the ruffling Winds arise,
To snatch the Prospect from my Eyes:
The mimick Form their Fury braves,
And proudly triumphs o'er the Waves;
Yet, tho' with every Wave 'tis tost,
The Reflexion is not lost.

Virtue wages such a Strife,
In this turbulent Stream of Life;
Rack'd with Passions, tost with Fears,
Vext with Jealousies, and Cares:
But a good unspotted Soul,
Tho' subject, yet knows no Controll,
Whilst it turns on Virtue's Pole.

But, Lo! the Clouds obscure the Sun,
Swift Shadows o'er the Waters run!
Trembling too, my Shadow flies?
And by its very Likeness dyes.

Hence learn, reflecting Pattison ,
How silent Fate still hurries on,
How suddenly you must be gone!
And as you now can tell no more,
The Likeness that your Visage wore,
On the Surface of the Flood,
Where but now you gazing stood:
So, as soon as you shall dye,
And resign Mortality;
The delusive Breath of Fame,
Shall forget your very Name.