James Thomson quotes

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When Britain first, at Heaven's command,
Arose from out the azure main,
The savage soul of game is up at once--
The pack full-opening various, the shrill horn
Poor is the triumph o'er the timid hare!
Scared from the corn, and now to some lone seat
A little, round, fat, oily man of God.
The negligence of Nature wide and wild,
Where, undisguised by mimic art, she spreads
Unbounded beauty to the roving eye.
But who can paint
Like Nature? Can imagination boast
Amid its gay creation, hues like hers?
Hail, Source of Being! Universal Soul
Of heaven and earth! Essential Presence, hail!
High from the summit of a craggy cliff,
Hung o'er the deep, such as amazing frowns
If fancy then
Unequal fails beneath the pleasing task,
Ah, what shall language do?
Now 'tis nought
But restless hurry through the busy air,
Beat by unnumbered wings.
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