And lull the spirit while they fill the mind;
Unnumber'd branches waving in the blast,
And all their leaves faft flutt'ring, all at once.
Nor lefs compofure waits upon the roar
Of diftant floods, or on the fofter voice

Of neighb'ring fountain, or of rills that flip
Through the cleft rock, and chiming as they fall
Upon loose pebbles, lofe themselves at length
In matted grafs, that with a livelier green.
Betrays the fecret of their filent courfe.-
Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds,
But animated nature sweeter ftill,

To footh and fatisfy the human ear.

Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one

The live-long night: nor thefe alone, whofe notes

Nice finger'd art must emulate in vain,

But cawing rooks, and kites that swim fublime
In ftill repeated circles, fcreaming loud,

The jay, the pie, and ev'n the boding owl
That hails the rifing moon, have charms for me.
Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh,
Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns,.
And only there, please highly for their fake.

Peace to the artift, whofe ingenious thought Devis'd the weather-house, that useful toy!

ords.

retch

ryftal well; ly. ditch,

bev'rage home, nor feldom waits,

&tual call,

at the door,

uft confum'd.

's neft!

ns of life,

fweet,

view;

abode.

Colonnade

¡ent taste,

better fate.

a fcreen:

fhaded walks

oy'd at noon

ning day.
elf-depriv'd
ila fpread,

out a tree.

Fearless of humid air and gathering rains,

Forth steps the man-an emblem of myself!
More delicate, his tim'rous mate retires.
When Winter foaks the fields, and female feet,
Too weak to ftruggle with tenacious clay,

Or ford the rivulets, are beft at home,
The task of new difcov'ries falls on me.

At such a season, and with such a charge,

Once went I forth; and found, till then unknown, A cottage, whither oft we fince repair :

'Tis perch'd upon the green-hill top, but clofe
Environ'd with a ring of branching elms

That overhang the thatch, itself unfeen
Peeps at the vale below; fo thick befet
With foliage of such dark redundant growth,
I call'd the low-roof'd lodge the peafant's neft.
And, hidden as it is, and far remote
From fuch unpleafing sounds as haunt the ear
In village or in town, the bay of curs
Inceffant, clinking hammers, grinding wheels,
And infants clan'rous whether pleas'd or pain'd,
Oft have I wish'd the peaceful covert mine,
Here, I have faid, at least I fhould poffefs
The poet's treafure, filence, and indulge
The dreams of fancy, tranquil and secure.
Vain thought! the dweller in that still retreat

Dearly obtains the refuge it affords.
Its elevated fcite forbids the wretch

To drink sweet waters of the crystal well;
He dips his bowl into the weedy ditch,
And, heavy-laden, brings his bev'rage home,
Far fetch'd and little worth; nor feldom waits,
Dependant on the baker's punctual call,
To hear his creaking panniers at the door,
Angry and fad, and his last cruft confum'd.
So farewell envy of the peasant's neft!
If folitude make scant the means of life,
Society for me!-thou seeming fweet,
Be ftill a pleafing object in my view;
My vifit ftill, but never mine abode.

Not diftant far, a length of colonnade Invites us. Monument of ancient taste, Now fcorn'd, but worthy of a better fate. Our fathers knew the value of a screen. From fultry funs: and, in their shaded walks And long protracted bow'rs, enjoy'd at noon The gloom and coolness of declining day. We bear our fhades about us; felf-depriv'd Of other screen, the thin umbrella spread, And range an Indian waste without a tree.