Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/110

With half-shut eyes, beneath the floating shade 285
Of willows grey, close-crouding o'er the brook.

Gradual, from these what numerous kinds descend,
Evading even the microscopic eye!
Full Nature swarms with life; one wondrous mass
Of animals, or atoms organiz'd,290
Waiting the vital Breath, when Parent-Heaven
Shall bid his spirit blow. The hoary fen,
In putrid steams, emits the living cloud
Of pestilence. Thro' subterranean cells,
Where searching sun-beams scarce can find a way295
Earth animated heaves. The flowery leaf
Wants not its soft inhabitants. Secure,
Within its winding citadel, the stone
Holds multitudes. But chief the forest-boughs,
That dance unnumber'd to the playful breeze,300
The downy orchard, and the melting pulp
Of mellow fruit, the nameless nations feed
Of evanescent insects. Where the pool
Stands mantled o'er with green, invisible,
Amid the floating verdure millions stray.305
Each liquid too, whether it pierces, sooths.
Inflames, refreshes, or exalts the taste,
With various forms abounds. Nor is the firearm
Of purest crystal, nor the lucid air,
Tho' one transparent vacancy it seems,310
Void of their unseen people. These, conceal'd
By the kind art of forming Heaven, escape
The grosser eye of Man: for, if the worlds
In worlds inclos'd should on his senses burst,
From cates ambrosial, and the nectar'd bowl,315
He would abhorrent turn; and in dead night,
When silence sleeps o'er all, be stun'd with noise.

Let no presuming impious railer tax
Creative Wisdom, as if aught was form'd

In