James Thomson

Robert Shiels, in Musidorus: a Poem sacred to the Memory of Mr. James Thomson (1748) 13-14.

And while the Spring remains
To paint the Vale, or rustling Harvest nods,
Or Winter glooms, or Summer glads the Earth,
These, these shall read his monumental Stone
Beyond the Attacks of Time. O could the Muse
O'erleap the Bounds of Sense, and wing her Flight
To yon effulgent Orbs, where dwell the Bless'd,
Array'd in lucid Robes, there might she view
The Muses Sons with chearful Looks advance,
To hail the Partner of their deathless Joy.
See SPENCER deigns to point his mazy Way
Thro' Mansions ever new; and MILTON'S self,
Obsequious bending from his laurel'd Throne,
Now greets his noblest Son, and to the Choir
Of circling Angels, yields the heavenly Guest;
Who lead him wond'ring thro' the radiant Spheres,
Lost in the Maze of Thought, high rais'd, to him
Whose Hand creative form'd the spacious Vast
Of thousand Worlds, who bid our solar Year
Revolve, and Seasons steer their varied Course:
And moves, directs, and agitates the Whole.