That tell in homely phrase who lie below. Sudden he starts, and hears, or thinks he hears,

The sound of something purring at his heels; Full fast he flies, and dares not look behind him,

Till out of breath he overtakes his fellows;
Who gather round, and wonder at the tale
Of horrid apparition, tall and ghastly,
That walks at dead of night, or takes his
stand

O'er some new-open'd grave; and (strange to tell!)

Evanishes at crowing of the cock.

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Shines o'er the rest, the pastoral queen, and

rays

Her smiles, sweet-beaming, on her shepherdking;

While the glad circle round them yield their souls

To festive mirth, and wit that knows no gall.
Meantime, their joyous task goes on apace:
Some mingling stir the melted tar, and some,
Deep on the new-shorn vagrant's heaving side,
To stamp his master's cypher ready stand;
Others the unwilling wether drag along; 409
And, glorying in his might, the sturdy boy
Holds by the twisted horns the indignant ram.
Behold where bound, and of its robe bereft,
By needy man, that all-depending lord,
How meek, how patient, the mild creature
lies!

What softness in its melancholy face,

What dumb complaining innocence appears!
Fear not, ye gentle tribes, 'tis not the knife
Of horrid slaughter that is o'er you waved;
No, 'tis the tender swain's well-guided shears,
Who having now, to pay his annual care, 420
Borrowed your fleece, to you a cumbrous load,
Will send you bounding to your hills again.

THE COMING OF THE RAIN
FROM SPRING

At first a dusky wreath they seem to rise,
Scarce staining ether; but by fast degrees,
In heaps on heaps, the doubling vapour sails
Along the loaded sky, and mingling deep, 150
Sits on the horizon round, a settled gloom:
Not such as wintry storms on mortals shed,
Oppressing life; but lovely, gentle, kind,
And full of every hope and every joy,
The wish of Nature. Gradual sinks the
breeze

Into a perfect calm; that not a breath

Is heard to quiver through the closing woods,
Or rustling turn the many twinkling leaves
Of aspen tall. The uncurling floods, diffused
In glassy breadth, seem through delusive
lapse

Forgetful of their course. 'Tis silence all, 161
And pleasing expectation. Herds and flocks
Drop the dry sprig, and, mute-imploring, eye
The fallen verdure. Hushed in short suspense
The plumy people streak their wings with oil,
To throw the lucid moisture trickling off;
And wait the approaching sign to strike, at

once,

Defeating oft the labours of the year,
The sultry south collects a potent blast.
At first, the groves are scarcely seen to stir
Their trembling tops, and a still murmur runs
Along the soft-inclining fields of corn;
But as the aerial tempest fuller swells,
And in one mighty stream, invisible,
Immense, the whole excited atmosphere
Impetuous rushes o'er the sounding world,
Strained to the root, the stooping forest pours
A rustling shower of yet untimely leaves. 321
High-beat, the circling mountains eddy in,
From the bare wild, the dissipated storm,
And send it in a torrent down the vale.
Exposed, and naked, to its utmost rage,
Through all the sea of harvest rolling round,
The billowy plain floats wide; nor can evade,
Though pliant to the blast, its seizing force -
Or whirled in air, or into vacant chaff 329
Shook waste. And sometimes too a burst of
rain,

Swept from the black horizon, broad, descends
In one continuous flood. Still over head
The mingling tempest weaves its gloom, and
still

The deluge deepens; till the fields around
Lie sunk, and flatted, in the sordid wave.
Sudden, the ditches swell; the meadows
swim.

Red, from the hills, innumerable streams
Tumultuous roar; and high above its banks
The river lift; before whose rushing tide,
Herds, flocks, and harvests, cottages, and
swains,

340

Roll mingled down: all that the winds had spared,

In one wild moment ruined; the big hones, And well-earned treasures of the p

While o'er the enfeebling lute his hand he flung,

And to the trembling chords these tempting verses sung:

"Behold! ye pilgrims of this earth, behold! See all but man with unearned pleasure gay: See her bright robes the butterfly unfold, Broke from her wintry tomb in prime of May!

What youthful bride can equal her array? Who can with her for easy pleasure vie? From mead to mead with gentle wing to stray,

From flower to flower on balmy gales to fly,

Is all she has to do beneath the radiant sky.

80

"Come, ye who still the cumbrous load of

life

Push hard up-hill; but as the farthest steep

You trust to gain, and put an end to strife, Down thunders back the stone with mighty sweep,

And hurls your labours to the valley deep,
Forever vain: come, and, withouten fee,
I in oblivion will your sorrows steep,

Your cares, your toils; will steep you in a

sea

Of Sybarite of old, all Nature, and all Art.