The sturdy fwain diminish'd to a boy!

Here Oufe, flow winding through a level plain Of fpacious meads with cattle fprinkled o'er, Conducts the eye along its finuous course Delighted. There, faft rooted in their bank, Stand, never overlook'd, our fav'rite elms, That screen the herdfman's folitary but; While far beyond, and overthwart the stream That, as with molten glafs, inlays the vale, The floping land recedes into the clouds; Displaying on its varied fide the grace

Of hedge-row beauties numberlefs, fquare tow'r,
Tall fpire, from which the found of cheerful bells
Juft undulates upon the lift'ning ear,

Groves, heaths, and fmoking villages, remote.
Scenes must be beautiful, which, daily view'd,
Please daily, and whofe novelty furvives
Long knowledge and the fcrutiny of years.
Praise justly due to those that I defcribe.

Nor rural fights alone, but rural founds, Exhilerate the fpirit, and restore The tone of languid nature. Mighty winds, That fweep the fkirt of fome far-fpreading wood Of ancient growth, make mufic not unlike The dash of ocean on his winding fhore,

And lull the fpirit while they fill the mind;
Unnumber'd branches waving in the blast,
And all their leaves fast flutt'ring, all at once.
Nor lefs compofure waits upon the roar
Of distant floods, or on the fofter voice
Of neighb'ring fountain, or of rills that flip
Through the cleft rock, and, chiming as they fall
Upon loofe pebbles, lofe themselves at length
In matted grafs, that with a livelier green
Betrays the fecret of their filent course.
Nature inanimate employs fweet founds,
But animated nature sweeter still,

To footh and fatisfy the human ear.

Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one
The livelong night: nor these alone, whofe notes
Nice finger'd art must emulate in vain,

But cawing rooks, and kites that swim fublime
In still repeated circles, screaming loud,
The jay, the pie, and even the boding owl,
That hails the rifing moon, have charms for me.
Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh,
Yet heard in fcenes where peace for ever reigns,
And only there, please highly for their fake.

Peace to the artist, whose ingenious thought Devis'd the weather-houfe, that ufeful toy!

Fearlefs of humid air and gathering rains,
Forth fteps the man-an emblem of myself!
More delicate, his tim'rous mate retires.
When winter foaks the fields, and female feet,
Too weak to ftruggle with tenacious clay,
Or ford the rivulets, are beft at home,
The talk of new difcov'ries falls on me.
At fuch a feason, and with fuch a charge,
Once went I forth; and found, till then unknown,
À cottage, whether oft we fince repair:
'Tis perch'd upon the green-hill top, but close
Environ'd with a ring of branching elms
That overhang the thatch, itself unseen
Peeps at the vale below; fo thick befet
With foliage of fuch dark redundant growth,
I call'd the low-roof'd lodge the peafant's neft.
And, hidden as it is, and far remote

From fuch unpleafing founds as haunt the ear
In village or in town, the bay of curs
Inceffant, clinking hammers, grinding wheels,
And infants clam'rous whether pleas'd or pain'd,
Oft have I wish'd the peaceful covert mine.
Here, I have faid, at least I should poffefs
The poet's treasure, filence, and indulge
The dreams of fancy, tranquil and fecure.
Vain thought! the dweller in that still retreat

Dearly obtains the refuge it affords.

Its elevated fcite forbids the wretch

To drink fweet waters of the crystal well;
He dips his bowl into the weedy ditch,
And, heavy.laden, brings his bev'rage home,
Far fetch'd and little worth; nor feldom waits,
Dependant on the baker's punctual call,
To hear his creaking pannier's at the door,
Angry and fad, and his last cruft confum'd,
So farewell envy of the peasant's neft!
If folitude make fcant the means of life,
Society for me!-thou feeming fweet,
Be ftill a pleafing object in my view;
My visit still, but never mine abode.

Invites us.

Not distant far, a length of colonnade
Monument of ancient taste,
Now fcorn'd, but worthy of a better fate.
Our fathers knew the value of a screen
From fultry funs; and, in their fhaded walks
And long protracted bow'rs, enjoy'd at noon
The gloom and coolnefs of declining day.
We bear our fhades about us; felf-depriv❜d
Of other fcreen, the thin umbrella fpread,
And range an Indian waste without a tree,

1

Thanks to Benevėlus-he fpares me yet
These chefnuts rang'd in corresponding lines;
And, though himself so polish'd, still reprives
The obfolete prolixity of fhade.

Defcending now (but cautious, left too faft)
A fudden steep, upon a rustic bridge
We pafs a gulf, in which the willows dip
Their pendant boughs, ftooping as if to drink.
Hence, ankle-deep in mofs and flow'ry thyme,
We mount again, and feel at ev'ry step
Our foot half funk in hillocks green and soft,
Rais'd by the mole, the miner of the foil.
He, not unlike the great ones of mankind,
Disfigures earth; and, plotting in the dark,
Toils much to earn a monumental pile,

That may record the mischiefs he has done.

The fummit gain'd, behold the proud alcove
That crowns it! yet not all its pride fecures
The grand retreat from injuries imprefs'd
By rural carvers, who with knives deface
The pannels, leaving an obfcure, rude name,

* John Courtney Throckmorton, Efq. of Weston Underwood.