O'er thefe, but far beyond (a fpacious map Hence the declivity is sharp and short, All fummer long, which winter fills again. The folded gates would bar my progress now, * But that the lord of this enclos'd demesne, Communicative of the good he owns, Admits me to a fhare: the guiltless eye Commits no wrong, nor waftes what it enjoys. * See the foregoing note. Your fate unmerited, once more rejoice How airy and how light the graceful arch, Re-echoing pious anthems! while beneath The chequer'd earth feems reftlefs as a flood Brufh'd by the wind. So fportive is the light a Shot through the boughs, it dances as they dance, And dark'ning and enlight'ning, as the leaves And now, with nerves new-brac'd and spirits cheer'd, We tread the wilderness, whofe well-roll'd walks, With curvature of flow and eafy fweep Deception innocent-give ample space To narrow bounds. The grove receives us next; Thump after thump refounds the constant flail, That seems to fwing uncertain, and yet falls By ceafelefs action all that is fubfifts. That nature rides upon maintains her health, An inftant's paufe, and lives but while she moves. Its own revolvency upholds the world. Winds from all quarters agitate the air, And fit the limpid element for use, Elfe noxious: oceans, rivers, lakes, and ftreams, All feel the fresh'ning impulfe, and are cleans'd By restless undulation: ev'n the oak Thrives by the rude concuffion of the storm: Th' impreffion of the blast with proud disdain, He held the thunder: but the monarch owes More fixt below, the more disturb'd above. The law, by which all creatures elfe are bound, Binds man the lord of all. Himfelf derives No mean advantage from a kindred cause, From strenuous toil his hours of sweetest ease. The fedentary stretch their lazy length When cuftom bids, but no refreshment find, By its true worth, the comforts it affords, And their's alone feems worthy of the name, Good temper ; fpirits prompt to undertake, And not foon spent, though in an arduous task; Like a coy maiden, eafe, when courted most, Fartheft retires-an idol, at whofe fhrine Who oft'neft facrifice are favour'd leaft. The love of Nature, and the scenes fhe draws, Is Nature's dictate. Strange! there should be found, Who, felf-imprison'd in their proud faloons, Renounce the odours of the open field |