Page:The Seasons - Thomson (1791).djvu/186

To hold a generous undiminish'd state;
Too much in vain! hence of unequals bounds
Impatient, and by tempting glory borne
O'er every land, for every land their life
Has flow'd profuse, their piercing genius plan'd, 895
And swell'd the pomp of peace their faithful toil.
As from their own clear north, in radiant streams,
Bright over Europe bursts the Boreal Morn.

Oh is there not some patriot, in whose power
That best, that godlike luxury is placed, 900
Of blessing thousands, thousands yet unborn,
Thro' late posterity? some, large of soul,
To chear dejected industry? to give
A double harvest to the pining swain?
And teach the labouring hand the sweets of toil? 905
How, by the finest art, the native robe
To weave; how, white as hyperborean snow,
To form the lucid lawn; with venturous oar,
How to dash wide the billow; nor look on,
Shamefully passive, while Batavian fleets 910
Defraud us of the glittering finny swarms.
That heave our friths, and croud upon our shores;
How all-enlivening trade to rouse, and wing
The prosperous fail, from, every growing port,
Uninjur'd, round the sea-incircled globe; 915
And thus, in soul united as in name,
Bid Britain reign the mistress of the deep.

Yes, there are such. And full on thee, Argile,
Her hope, her stay, her darling, and her boast,
From her first patriots and her heroes sprung, 920
Thy fond imploring country turns her eye:
In thee, with all a mother's triumph, sees
Her every virtue, every grace combin'd,

Her