James Thomson

Anonymous, in "The Court of Apollo" The Centinel No. 23 (9 June 1757) 137.

Now rising murmurs float along the vale,
And double sweets perfume th' ascending gale;
With charms improv'd all nature seem'd to glow,
When her own Thomson climb'd the mountains brow.
"O thou the child of blooming fancy born,
Bright as the noon, and beaut'ous as the morn,
Who stray'st with rapture thro' the flow'ry plain,
And to creation's wonders tune the strain;
Why yield thy bloom to indolence a prey,
And let her vapours stain thy mental ray?
She, fellow goddess, sickens in thy face,
Lolls in thy limbs, and loiters in thy pace.
Awake, for thee spring brightens ev'ry flow'r,
For thee brown summer decks yon arching bow'r;
Arise, plump autumn ripens, rise and see
How her rich clusters lend their load to thee:
Turn not away, to fair ambition blind,
For thy own sickly winter frowns behind."—