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Faction embroils the world; and ev'ry tongue
Is mov'd by flattery, or with scandal hung;
Friendship, for sylvan shades, the palace flies,
Where all must yield to interest's dearer ties.
Each rival Machiavel with envy burns,
And honesty forsakes them all by turns;
While calumny upon each party's thrown,
Which both promote, and both alike disown.
Fatigu'd at last, a calm retreat I chose,

And sooth'd my harrass'd mind with sweet repose,
Where fields and shades, and the refreshing clime,
Inspire the sylvan song, and prompt my rhyme.
My muse shall rove through flow'ry meads and plains,
And deck with Rural Sports her native strains;
And, the same road ambitiously pursue,
Frequented by the Mantuan swain, and you.

'Tis not that rural sports alone invite ;
But all the grateful country breathes delight.
Here blooming Health exerts her gentle reign,
And strings the sinews of th' industrious swain.
Soon as the morning lark salutes the day,
Through dewy fields I take my frequent way,
Where I behold the farmer's early care,

In the revolving labours of the year.

When the fresh Spring in all her state is crown'd,
And high luxuriant grass o'erspreads the ground,
The labourer with a bending scythe is seen,
Shaving the surface of the waving green;
Of all her native pride disrobes the land,

And meads lays waste before his sweeping hand.
While with the mounting sun the meadow glows,
The fading herbage round he loosely throws;
But if some sign portend a lasting show'r,
Th' experienc'd swain foresees the coming hour;
His sun-burnt hands the scattering fork forsake,
And ruddy damsels ply the saving rake;
In rising hills the fragrant harvest grows,
And spreads along the fields in equal rows.

Now, when the height of heav'n bright Phoebus gains, And level rays cleave wide the thirsty plains, When heifers seek the shade and cooling lake, And in the middle path-way basks the snake; O lead me, guard me from the sultry hours: Hide me, ye forests! in your closest bowers, Where the tall oak his spreading arms entwines, And with the beech a mutual shade combines; Where flows the murm'ring brook, inviting dreams, And bord'ring hazle overhangs the streams, Whose rolling currents, winding round and round, With frequent falls make all the woods resound.

Upon the mossy couch my limbs I cast,

And e'en at noon the sweets of evening taste.

Here I peruse the Mantuan's Georgic strains, And learn the labours of Italian swains; In ev'ry page I see new landscapes rise, And all Hesperia opens to my eyes.

I wander o'er the various rural toil,

And know the nature of each different soil:
This waving field is gilded o'er with corn;
That, spreading trees with blushing fruit adorn :
Here I survey the purple vintage grow,

Climb round the poles, and rise in graceful row:
Now I behold the steed curvet and bound,

And paw with restless hoof the smoking ground:
The dew-lap'd bull now chafes along the plain,
While burning love ferments in ev'ry vein ;
His well-arm'd front against his rival aims,
And by the dint of war his mistress claims:
The careful insect 'midst his works I view,
Now from the flowers exhaust the fragrant dew,
With golden treasures load his little thighs,
And steer his distant journey through the skies;
Some against hostile drones the hive defend,
Others with sweets the waxen cells distend;
Each in the toil his destin'd office bears,
And in the little bulk a mighty soul appears.

Or when the ploughman leaves the task of day, And trudging homeward whistles on the way; When the big-udder'd cows with patience stand, Waiting the stroakings of the damsel's hand; (No warbling cheers the woods; the feather'd choir To court kind slumbers, to the sprays retire ;) When no rude gale disturbs the sleeping trees, Nor aspen leaves confess the gentlest breeze; Engag'd in thought, to Neptune's bounds I stray, To take my farewell of the parting day : Far in the deep the sun his glory hides, A streak of gold the sea and sky divides: The purple clouds their amber linings show, And edg'd with flame rolls ev'ry wave below: Here pensive I behold the fading light, And o'er the distant billow lose my sight.

Now night in silent state begins to rise,
And twinkling orbs bestrew th' uncloudy skies;
Her borrow'd lustre growing Cynthia lends,
And on the main a glitt'ring path extends :
Millions of worlds hang in the spacious air,
Which round their suns their annual circles steer:
Sweet contemplation elevates my sense,

While I survey the works of providence.
O could the muse in loftier strains rehearse
The glorious author of the universe,

Who reins the winds, gives the vast ocean bounds, And circumscribes the floating worlds their rounds; My soul should overflow in songs of praise,

And

my

Creator's name inspire my lays!

As in successive course the seasons roll, So circling pleasures recreate the soul. When genial Spring a living warmth bestows, And o'er the year her verdant mantle throws, No swelling inundation hides the grounds, But crystal currents glide within their bounds; The finny brood their wonted haunts forsake, Float in the sun, and skim along the lake; With frequent leap they range the shallow streams, Their silver coats reflect the dazzling beams. Now let the fisherman his toils prepare, And arm himself with ev'ry watery snare; His hooks, his lines, peruse with careful eye, Increase his tackle, and his rod re-tie.

When floating clouds their spongy fleeces drain, Troubling the streams with swift-descending rain, And waters tumbling down the mountain's side, Bear the loose soil into the swelling tide; Then, soon as vernal gales begin to rise, And drive the liquid burthen through the skies,

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