In vain the spring proclaims the new-born year;
No flowers beneath her lingering footsteps spring,
No rosy garland binds her flowing hair,
And in her train no feather'd warblers sing. ("On the Backwardness
of the Spring of 1771")
Forgotten rimes, and college themes,
Worm-eaten plans, and embryo schemes;--
A mass of heterogeneous matter,
A chaos dark, nor land nor water;--
New books like new born infants stand,
Waiting the printer's clothing hand;--
("An Inventory of the Furniture in Dr.
Priestley's Study")
O'er Afric's sand the tawny Lion stalks,
On Phasis' banks the graceful Pheasant walks,
The lonely Eagle builds on Kilda's shore,
Germanias forests feed the tusky Boar,
From Alp to Alp the sprightly Ibex bounds,
With graceful lowings Britains' isle resounds.
The Lapland peasant o'er the frozen mere
Is drawn in sledges by his swift rein-deer,
The River-horse and scaly Crocodile
Infest the reedy banks of fruitful Nile,
Dire Dipsa's hiss oe'r Mauritania's plain,
And Seals and spouting-Whales sport in the northern main [.] (Animals, and their Countries")
With stores of various knowledge, dwell the powers
That trace out secret causes, and unveil Great Nature's awful face?
([John Aikin])
Unlock thy copious stores; those tender showers
That drop their sweetness on the infant buds,
And silent dews that swell
The milky ear's green stem,
And feed the flowering osier's early shoots;
And call those winds which thro' the whispering boughs
With warm and pleasant breath
Salute the blowing flowers. ("Ode to Spring")
Yet not all
Of grace and beauty from the falling year
Is torn ungenial. Still the taper fir
Lifts its green spire, and the dark holly edged
With gold, and many a strong perennial plant,
Yet cheer the waste: nor does yon knot of oaks
Resign its honours to the infant blast.
This is the time, and these the solemn walks,
When inspiration rushes o'er the soul
Sudden, as through the grove the rustling breeze. ("Autumn")
No, helpless thing, I cannot harm thee now;
Depart in peace, thy little life is safe,
For I have scanned thy form with curious eye,
Noted the silver line that streaks thy back,
The azure and the orange that divide
Thy velvet sides . . .
Making me feel and clearly recognise
Thine individual existence, life,
And fellowship of sense with all that breathes,-- ("The Caterpillar")
Mount, child of morning, mount and sing, 
And gaily beat thy fluttering wing,
And sound thy shrill alarms;
Bathed in fountains of the dew
Thy sense is keen, thy joys are new;
The wide world opens to view,
And spreads its earliest charms. ("To the Lark")