My fancy, ere yet liberty of choice Had found me, or the hope of being free. Ere yet her ear was miftrefs of their pow'rs. Of Tityrus, affembling, as he fang, The ruftic throng beneath his fav'rite beech. As twice fev'n years, his beauties had then first And still admiring, with regret fuppos'd The joy half loft because not fooner found. There, too, enamour'd of the life I lov'd, Pathetic in its praise, in its pursuit Determin'd, and poffeffing it at last With transports such as favour'd lovers feel, I studied, priz'd, and wish'd that I had known, I still revere thee, courtly though retir'd; For a loft world in folitude and verse. 'Tis born with all: the love of Nature's works Is an ingredient in the compound man, Infus'd at the creation of the kind, And, though th' Almighty Maker has throughout Discriminated each from each, by strokes And touches of his hand, with fo much art Diverfified, that two were never found Twins at all points-yet this obtains in all, That all difcern a beauty in his works, And all can taste them: minds that have been form'd And tutor'd, with a relish more exact, But none without some relish, none unmov❜d. 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 fmother of true worth A garden, in which nothing thrives, has charms He cultivates. These ferve him with a hint That Nature lives; that fight-refreshing green. Is ftill the liv'ry fhe delights to wear, Though fickly famples of th' exub'rant whole. What are the casements lin'd with creeping herbs, Of orange, myrtle, or the fragrant weed, Of rural scenes, compenfating his lofs By fupplemental fhifts, the best he may ? The most unfurnish'd with the means of life, Suspend their crazy boxes, planted thick, And water'd duly. There the pitcher stands * Mignonnette. A fragment, and the fpoutlefs tea-pot-there; Hail, therefore, patronefs of health, and ease, I shall not add myself to fuch a chase, He gives a tongue t' enlarge upon, an heart |