- The task how difficult, to cull the best
- From thwarting sentiments; and best adorn
- What Wisdom chuses, in poetic garb!
- Yet, Inspiration, come: the theme unsung, [300]
- Whence never poet cropt one bloomy wreath;
- Its vast importance to my native land,
- Whose sweet idea rushes on my mind,
- And makes me ‘mid this paradise repine;
- Urge me to pluck, from Fancy’s soaring wing, [305]
-
A plume to deck Experience’ hoary brow.
- ATTEND.——The son of Time and Truth declares;
- Unless the low-hung clouds drop fatness down,
- No bunching plants of vivid green will spring,
- In goodly ranks, to fill the planter’s eye. [310]
- Let then Sagacity, with curious ken,1
- Remark the various signs of future rain.
- The signs of rain, the Mantuan Bard2 hath sung
- In loftiest numbers; friendly to thy swains,
- Once fertile Italy: but other marks [315]
-
Portend the approaching shower, in these hot climes.
- SHORT sudden rains, from Ocean’s ruffled bed,
- Driven by some momentary squalls, will oft
- With frequent heavy bubbling drops, down-fall;