Is not the red-streak’s. Future juice

The source of your delight profound,
Where Ariconium pours her gems profuse,

Purpling a whole horizon round?
Athirst ye praise the limpid stream, 'tis true

But though, the pebbled fores among,

It mimic no unpleasing song,
The limpid fountain murmure not for you.

? VI.
Unpleas'd ye fee the thickets bloom,
Unpleas'd the Spring her flowery robe resume ;

Unmoy'd the mountain's airy pile,
The dappled méad without a smile.

O let a rural confeious Mule,
For well she knows, your fróward sense accuse :

Forth to the folemn oak you bring the square,
And span the masly trunk, before you cry, 'tis fair.

Nor yet ye learri'd, nor yet ye courtly train,

If haply from your haunts ye stray
To waste with us a summer's day,
Exclude the taste of every fwain,

Nor our untutor'd fense difdain :
"Tis Nature only gives exclusive right

To relish her supreme delight';".
She, where the pleases kind or coy,
Who furnishes the scene, and forms us to enjoy.

VIII. Then

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Then hither bring the fair ingenuous mind,
By her aufpicious aid refin'd;
Lo! not an hedge-row hawthorn blows,

Or humble hare-bell paints the plain,
Or valley winds, or fountain flows,

Or purple heath is ting'd in vain :
For such the rivers dash their foaming tides, 1

The mountain swells, the dale subfides ;
Ev'n thriftlefs furze detains their wandering fight,
And the rough barren rock, grows pregnant with delight.

With what fufpicious fearful care

The fordid wretch secures his claim,
If haply fome luxurious heir

Should alienate the fields that wear his name !
What scruples left some future birth

Should litigate a span of earth!
Bonds, contracts, feofsments, names unmeet for profe,
The towering Muse endures not to disclofe ;

Alas ! her unrevers'd decree,

More comprehensive and more free,
Her lavish charter, Taste, appropriates all we see.

Let gondolas their painted flags unfold,
And be the solemn day enrolld,

When, When, to confirm his lofty plea,

In nuptial fort, with bridal gold,

Venetian weds the sea;
Each laughing Muse derides the vow ;

Ev'n Adria scorns the mock embrace,
To some lone hermit on the mountain's brow,

Allotted, from his natal hour,
With all her myrtle shores in dow'r.
His breast to admiration

Enjoys the smile upon her face,

Enjoys triumphant every grace,
And finds her more his own.

Fatigu'd with form's oppressive laws,

When Somerset avoids the Great;
When cloy'd with merited applause,

She seeks the rural calm retreat ;
Does she not praise each mofly cell,
And feel the truth my numbers tell ?
When deafen'd by the loud acclaim,

Which genius grac'd with rank obtains,
Could she not more delighted hear
Yon throítle chaunt the rising year ?
Could she not spurn the wreaths of fame,

To crop the primrose of the plains ?
Does the not sweets in each fair valley find,
Loft to the fons of pow'r, unknown to half mankind ?

XII. Ah!

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Ah! can she covet there to fee
The splendid slaves, the reptile race,

That oil the tongue, and bow the knee,
That night her merit, but adore her place?

Far happier, if aright I deem,
When from gay throngs, and gilded spires,

To where the lonely halcyons play,
Her philofophic step retires :
While studious of the moral theme,
She, to some smooth fequefter'd stream

Likens the fwain's inglorious day ; !
Pleas'd from the flowery margin to survey,
How cool, serene, and clear the current glides away.

O blind to truth, to virtue blind,
Who flight the sweetly-penfive mind!
On whose fair birth the Graces mild,
And every Muse prophetic fmild.
Not that the poet's boasted fire

Should Fame's wide-echoing trumpet fwell
Or, on the music of his lyre

Each future age with rapture dwell;
The vaunted sweets of praise remove,

Yet shall fuch bofoms claim a part

In all that glads the human heart; Yet these the spirits, form'd to judge and prove All Nature's charms immenfe, and Heav'n's unbounded love.

XIV, And

And oh! the transport, most ally'd to song,

In fome fair villa's peaceful bound,
To catch soft hints from Nature's tongue,

And bid Arcadia bloom around :
Whether we fringe the floping hill,

Or smoothe below the verdant mead;
Whether we break the falling rill,

Or through meandering mazes lead ;
Or in the horrid bramble's room
Bid careless groups of roses bloom ;

Or let fome Thelter'd lake serene
Reflect flow’rs, woods and fpires, and brighten all the scene.

O sweet disposal of the rural hour !

O beauties never known to cloy!
While worth and genius haunt the favour'd bow's,

And every gentle breast partakes the joy !
While Charity at eve furveys the fwain,

Enabled by these toils to chear
A train of helpless infants dear,

Speed whistling home acrofs the plain ;
Sees vagrant Luxury, her hand-maid grown,

For half her graceless deeds atone, And hails the bountequś work, and ranks it with her own.

XVI. Why

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