And due repose, he loiters to behold
The sunshine gleaming as thro' amber clouds,530
O'er all the western sky; full soon, I ween,
His rude expression and untutor'd airs,
Beyond the pow'r of language, will unfold
The form of beauty smiling at his heart,
How lovely! how commanding! But tho' heav'n535
In every breast hath sown these early seeds
Of love and admiration, yet in vain,
Without fair culture's kind parental aid,
Without inlivening suns, and genial show'rs,
And shelter from the blast, in vain we hope540
The tender plant should rear its blooming head
Or yield the harvest promis'd in its spring.
Nor yet will every soil with equal stores
Repay the tiller's labour; or attend
His will, obsequious, whether to produce545
The olive, or the laurel. Diff'rent minds
Incline to different objects: one pursues,
The vast alone,[1] the wonderful, the wild;
Another sighs for harmony, and grace,
And gentlest beauty. Hence when lightening fires550
The arch of heav'n, and thunders rock the ground;
When furious whirlwinds rend the howling air,
And ocean, groaning from his lowest bed,
Heaves his tempestuous billows to the sky;
- ↑ one pursues
The vast alone, &c.] See the note to v. 18. of this book.
