Few know thy value, and few tafte thy fweets;
Though many boaft thy favours, and affect
To understand and choose thee for their own.
But foolish man foregoes his proper blifs,
Ev'n as his first progenitor, and quits,
Though plac'd in paradife, (for earth has still
Some traces of her youthful beauty left)
Subftantial happiness for tranfient joy.
Scenes form'd for contemplation, and to nurse
The growing feeds of wifdom; that fuggeft,
By ev'ry pleafing image they prefent,
Reflections fuch as meliorate the heart,
Compofe the paffions, and exalt the mind;
Scenes fuch as thefe 'tis his fupreme delight
To fill with riot, and defile with blood.
Should fome contagion, kind to the poor
We perfecute, annihilate the tribes
That draw the sportsman over hill and dale,
Fearless, and rapt away from all his cares;
Should never game-fowl hatch her eggs again,
Nor baited hook deceive the fifh's eye;
Could pageantry and dance, and feast and song,
Be quell'd in all our fummer-months' retreat;
How many felf-deluded nymphs and fwains,
Who dream they have a taste for fields and groves,
Would find them hideous nurs❜ries of the spleen,
And crowd the roads, impatient for the town!
They love the country, and none elfe, who seek
For their own fake its filence and its fhade.
Delights which who would leave, that has a heart
Sufceptible of pity, or a mind
Cultur'd and capable of fober thought,
For all the favage din of the fwift pack,
And clamours of the field?-Detested sport,
That owes its pleasures to another's pain;
That feeds upon the fobs and dying fhrieks
Of harmless nature, dumb, but yet endu'd
With eloquence, that agonies infpire,
Of filent tears and heart-diftending fighs?
Vain tears, alas! and fighs, that never find
A correfponding tone in jovial fouls!
Well-one at leaft is fafe.
Has never heard the fanguinary yell
Of cruel man, exulting in her woes.
Innocent partner of my peaceful home,
Whom ten long years' experience of my care
Has made at laft familiar; fhe has loft
Much of her vigilant inftinctive dread,
Not needful here, beneath a roof like mine.
Yes-thou may'ft eat thy bread, and lick the hand
That feeds thee; thou may'ft frolic on the floor
At evening, and at night retire fecure
To thy ftraw couch, and flumber unalarm'd;
For I have gain'd thy confidence, have pledg'd
All that is human in me to protect
Thine unfufpecting gratitude and love.
If I farvive thee I will dig thy grave;
And, when I place thee in it, fighing fay,
I knew at least one hare that had a friend.
How various his employments, whom the world Calls idle; and who justly, in return,
Efteems that busy world an idler too!
Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen,
Delightful industry enjoy'd at home,
And nature in her cultivated trim
Drefs'd to his taste, inviting him abroad-
Can he want occupation who has these?
Will he be idle who has much t' enjoy?
Me, therefore, ftudious of laborious ease,
Not flothful; happy to deceive the time,
Not waste it; and aware that human life
Is but a loan to be repaid with use,
When he shall call his debtors to account
From whom are all our bleffings; bus'nefs finds
Ev'n here: while fedulous I feek t'improve,
At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd,
The mind he gave me; driving it, though flack
Too oft, and much impeded in its work
By causes not to be divulg❜d in vain,
To its juft point-the fervice of mankind.
He that attends to his interior felf,
That has a heart, and keeps it; has a mind
That hungers, and fupplies it; and who feeks
A focial, not a diffipated life,
Has bufinefs feels himself engag'd t' atchieve
No unimportant, though a filent, task.
A life all turbulence and noife, may seem,
To him that leads it, wife, and to be prais'd;
But wifdom is a pearl with most fuccefs
Sought in ftill water, and beneath clear skies.
He that is ever occupied in ftorms,
Or dives not for it, or brings up instead,
Vainly induftrious, a difgraceful prize.
The morning finds the felf-fequefter'd man Fresh for his talk, intend what task he may. Whether inclement feafons recommend His warm but fimple home, where he enjoys, With her who fhares his pleasures and his heart, Sweet converfe, fipping calm the fragrant lymph Which neatly she prepares; then to his book, Well chofen, and not fullenly perus'd In felfish filence, but imparted oft
As aught occurs that she may fmile to hear,
Or turn to nourishment, digested well.
Or, if the garden with its many cares,
All well repaid, demand him, he attends
The welcome call, confcious how much the hand
Of lubbard labour needs his watchful eye,
Oft loit'ring lazily, if not o'erfeen,
Or mifapplying his unskilful strength.
Nor does he govern only or direct,
But much performs himself. No works indeed
That afk robuft tough finews, bred to toil,
Servile employ; but fuch as may amufe,
Not tire, demanding rather skill than force.
Proud of his well-fpread walls, he views his trees
That meet (no barren interval between)
With pleasure more than ev❜n their fruits afford,
Which, fave himself who trains them, none can feel:
Thefe, therefore, are his own peculiar charge;
No meaner hand may discipline the shoots,
None but his steel approach them. What is weak,
Diftemper'd, or has loft prolific pow'rs,
Impair'd by age, his unrelenting hand
Dooms to the knife: nor does he fpare the foft
And fucculent, that feeds its giant growth,
But barren, at th' expence of neighb'ring twigs
Less oftentatious, and yet studded thick
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