The love of Rural Objects natural to all,

Ingenious Cowley! and, though now reclaimed
By modern lights from on erroneous taste,
I cannot but lament thy splendid wit
Entangled in the cobwebs of the schools.

I still revere thee, courtly though retired;
Though stretched at ease in Chertsey's silent bowers,
Not unemployed; and finding rich amends

For a lost world in solitude and verse.

'Tis born with all: the love of nature's works

Is an ingredient in the compound man,

Infused at the creation of the kind.

And, though the Almighty Maker has throughout
Discriminated each from each, by strokes

And touches of his hand, with so much art
Diversified, that two were never found

Twins at all points-yet this obtains in all,

That all discern a beauty in his works,

And all can taste them: minds, that have been formed

And tutored with a relish more exact,

But none without some relish, none unmoved.

E

And never to be totally extinguished.

It is a flame that dies not even there,

Where nothing feeds it: neither business, crowds,
Nor habits of luxurious city-life,

Whatever else they smother of true worth
In human bosoms; quench it or abate.

The villas, with which London stands begirt,
Like a swarth Indian with his belt of beads,
Prove it. A breath of unadulterate air,

The glimpse of a green pasture, how they cheer
The citizen, aud brace his languid frame!
Ev'n in the stifling bosom of the town

A garden, in which nothing thrives, has charms,
That sooth the rich possessor; much consoled,
That here and there some sprigs of mournful mint,
Of nightshade, or valerian, grace the well
He cultivates. These serve him with a hint
That nature lives; that sight-refreshing green
Is still the livery she delights to wear,

Though sickly samples of the exuberant whole.

What are the casements lined with creeping herbs,

Invocation to Rural Life.

The prouder sashes fronted with a range

Of orange, myrtle, or the fragrant weed,

The Frenchman's* darling? are they not all proofs
That man, immured in cities, still retains
His inborn inextinguishable thirst
Of rural scenes, compensating his loss
By supplemental shifts, the best he may?
The most unfurnished with the means of life,

To

range

And they that never pass their brick-wall bounds
the fields, and treat their lungs with air,
Yet feel the burning instinct: over-head
Suspend their crazy boxes, planted thick,
And watered duly. There the pitcher stands
A fragment, and the spoutless tea pot there;
Sad witnesses how close-pent man regrets
The country, with what ardour he contrives
A peep at nature, when he can no more.

Hail, therefore, patroness of health and ease;
And contemplation, heart-consoling joys

* Mignionette.

Man fitted for his Station in Life.

And harmless pleasures, in the thronged abode
Of multitudes unknown; hail, rural life!
Address himself who will to the pursuit
Of honours, or emolument, or fame;
I shall not add myself to such a chase,
Thwart his attempts, or envy his success.
Some must be great. Great offices will have
Great talents. And God gives to every man
The virtue, temper, understanding, taste,
That lifts him into life, and lets him fall
Just in the niche, he was ordained to fill.
To the deliverer of an injured land

He gives a tongue to enlarge upon, an heart.
To feel, and courage to redress her wrongs:
To monarchs dignity; to judges sense;
To artists ingenuity and skill;

To me an unambitious mind, content

In the low vale of life, that early felt

A wish for ease and leisure, and ere long Found here that leisure and that ease I wished.

THE TASK.

BOOK V.

THE WINTER MORNING WALK.

THE ARGUMENT.

A frosty morning.-The foddering of cattle.-The woodman and his dog. The poultry.-Whimsical effects of a frost at a waterfall.The Empress of Russia's palace of ice.—Amusements of monarchs.War, one of them.-Wars, whence-And whence monarchy.-The evils of it.—English and French loyalty contrasted.-The Bastile, and a prisoner there.-Liberty the chief recommendation of this country. Modern patriotism questionable, and why.-The perishable nature of the best human institutions.—Spiritual liberty not perishable.—The slavish state of man by nature.—Deliver him, Deist, if you can.-Grace must do it.-The respective merits of patriots and martyrs stated.-Their different treatment.-Happy freedom of the man whom grace makes free. His relish of the works of God. Address to the Creator.

"Tis morning; and the sun, with ruddy orb

IS

Ascending, fires the horizon; while the clouds,
That crowd away before the driving wind,
More ardent as the disk emerges more,