Forth fly the tepid airs, and, unconfined,
  Unbinding earth, the moving softness strays. 
  Joyous, th’ impatient husbandman perceives
  Relenting nature, and his lusty steers
  Drives from their stalls, to where the well-used plough
  Lies in the furrow, loosened from the frost;
  There, unrefusing, to the harnessed yoke
  They lend their shoulder, and begin their toil,
  Cheered by the simple song and soaring lark;
  Meanwhile incumbent o’er the shining share
  The master leans, removes th’ obstructing clay,
  Winds the whole work, and sidelong lays the glebe. 
  White through the neighbouring fields the sower stalks,
  With measured step, and liberal throws the grain
  Into the faithful bosom of the ground;
  The harrow follows harsh, and shuts the scene.

  Be gracious, Heaven! for now laborious man
  Has done his part.  Ye fostering breezes, blow! 
  Ye softening dews, ye tender showers, descend! 
  And temper all, thou world-reviving sun,
  Into the perfect year!  Nor ye who live
  In luxury and ease, in pomp and pride,
  Think these lost themes unworthy of your ear. 
  Such themes as these the rural Maro sung
  To wide-imperial Rome, in the full height
  Of elegance and taste, by Greece refined. 
  In ancient times, the sacred plough employed
  The kings and awful fathers of mankind;
  And some, with whom compared your insect tribes
  Are but the beings of a summer’s day,
  Have held the scale of empire, ruled the storm
  Of mighty war, then with victorious hand,
  Disdaining little delicacies, seized
  The plough, and, greatly independent, scorned
  All the vile stores corruption can bestow. 
  Ye generous Britons, venerate the plough;
  And o’er your hills and long-withdrawing vales
  Let Autumn spread his treasures to the sun,
  Luxuriant and unbounded!  As the sea,
  Far through his azure, turbulent domain,
  Your empire owns, and from a thousand shores
  Wafts all the pomp of life into your ports,

  So with superior boon may your rich soil
  Exuberant, Nature’s better blessings pour
  O’er every land, the naked nations clothe,
  And be th’ exhaustless granary of a world.

  Nor only through the lenient air this change,
  Delicious, breathes:  the penetrative sun,
  His force deep-darting to the dark retreat
  Of vegetation, sets the steaming power
  At large, to wander o’er the verdant earth,
  In various hues—­but chiefly thee, gay green! 
  Thou smiling Nature’s universal robe,
  United light and shade, where the sight dwells
  With growing strength and ever new delight. 
  From the moist meadow to the withered hill,
  Led by the breeze, the vivid verdure runs,
  And swells and deepens to the cherished eye. 
  The hawthorn whitens; and the juicy groves
  Put forth their buds, unfolding by degrees,