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The villas, with which London ftands begirt,
Like a swarth Indian with his belt of beads,
Prove it. A breath of unadulterate air,
The glimpse of a green pasture, how they cheer
The citizen, and brace his languid frame!
Ev'n in the stifling bosom of the town
A garden, in which nothing thrives, has charms,
That footh the rich poffeffor; much consoled,
That here and there some sprigs of mournful mint,
Of nightshade, or valerian, grace the well
He cultivates. These serve him with a hint
That nature lives; that fight-refreshing green
Is still the livery she delights to wear,
Though fickly samples of the exuberant whole.
What are the casements lined with creeping herbs,
The prouder salhes fronted with a range
Of orange, myrtle, or the fragrant weed,
The Frenchman's * darling? are they not all proofs
That man, immured in cities, still retains
His inborn inextinguishable' thirst
Of rural scenes, compensating his lofs
By supplemental shifts, the best he may?
The most unfurnished with the means of life,

Mignonnette.

And they, that never pass their brick-wall bounds
To range the fields and treat their lungs with air,
Yet feel the burning instinct: over-head
Suspend their crazy boxes, planted thick,
And watered duly. There the pitcher stands
A fragment, and the spoutless tea-pot there;
Sad witnesses how close-pent man regrets
The country, with what ardour he contrives
A peep at nature, when he can no more.

Hail, therefore, patroness of health and ease,
And contemplation, heart-consoling joys
And harmless pleasures, in the thronged abode
Of multitudes unknown; hail, rural life!
Address himself who will to the pursuit
Of honours, or emolument, or fame;
I shall not add myself to such a chase,
Thwart his attempts, or envy his success.
Some muft be great. Great offices will have
Great talents. And God gives to every man
The virtue, temper, understanding, tafte,
That lifts, him into life, and lets him fall
Just in the niche, he was ordained to fill.
To the deliverer of an injured land
He gives a tongue to enlarge upon, an heart

To feel, and courage to redress her wrongs;
To monarchs dignity; to judges sense;.
To artists ingenuity and skill;
To me an unambitious mind, content
In the low vale of life, that early felt
A wish for ease and leisure, and ere long
Found here that leisure and that ease I aed.

!

THE TASK.

BOOK V.

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