Few know thy value, and few tafte thy fweets; Though many boast thy favours, and affect To understand and choose thee for their own. But foolish man foregoes his proper bliss, Ev'n as his first progenitor, and quits, Though plac'd in paradife, (for earth has still Some traces of her youthful beauty left) Substantial happiness for tranfient joy. Scenes form'd for contemplation, and to nurse The growing feeds of wisdom; that fuggeft, By ev'ry pleasing image they present, Reflections fuch as meliorate the heart, Compose the paffions, and exalt the mind; Scenes fuch as thefe 'tis his fupreme delight To fill with riot, and defile with blood. Should fome contagion, kind to the poor brutes We perfecute, annihilate the tribes
That draw the sportsman over hill and dale, Fearless and rapt away from all his cares; Should never game-fowl hatch her eggs again, Nor baited hook deceive the fifh's eye; Could pageantry and dance, and feast and song, Be quell'd in all our fummer-months' retreat; How many self-deluded nymphs and fwains, Who dream they have a tafte for fields and groves, Would find them hideous nurs'ries of the spleen,
And crowd the roads, impatient for the town! They love the country, and none else, who seek For their own fake its filence and its fhade. Delights which who would leave, that has a heart Sufceptible of pity, or a mind
Cultur'd and capable of fober thought, For all the favage din of the fwift pack, And clamours of the field ?-Detested sport, That owes its pleasures to another's pain; That feeds upon the fobs and dying shrieks Of harmless nature, dumb, but yet endu'd With eloquence,. that agonies inspire, Of filent tears and heart-diftending fighs? Vain tears, alas, and fighs, that never find A correfponding tone in jovial fouls! Well-one at leaft is fafe. One fhelter'd hare Has never heard the fanguinary yell Of cruel man, exulting in her woes. Innocent partner of my peaceful home,
Whom ten long years' experience of my care Has made at laft familiar; fhe has loft Much of her vigilant instinctive dread, Not needful here, beneath a roof like mine. Yes-thou may'it eat thy bread, and lick the hand That feeds thee; thou may'ft frolic on the floor At evening, and at night retire secure
To thy ftraw couch, and flumber unalarm'd; For I have gain'd thy confidence, have pledg'd All that is human in me to protect
Thine unfufpecting gratitude and love. If I furvive thee I will dig thy grave; And, when I place thee in it, fighing say, I knew at least one hare that had a friend.
How various his employments, whom the world Calls idle; and who justly, in return,
Efteems that bufy world an idler too!
Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen, Delightful industry enjoy'd at home,
And nature in her cultivated trim
Drefs'd to his tafte, inviting him abroad- Can he want occupation who has these? Will he be idle who has much t' enjoy? Me, therefore, ftudious of laborious ease, Not flothful; happy to deceive the time, Not wafte it; and aware that human life Is but a loan to be repaid with use,
When He shall call his debtors to account From whom are all our bleffings; bus'nefs finds Ev'n here: while fedulous I seek t' improve, At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd, The mind he gave me; driving it, though flack
Too oft, and much impeded in its work By caufes not to be divulg'd in vain, To its juft point-the service of mankind. He that attends to his interior felf,
That has a heart, and keeps it; has a mind That hungers, and supplies it; and who seeks A focial, not a dissipated life,
Has business; feels himself engag'd t' achieve No unimportant, though a filent, task. A life all turbulence and noise may feem, To him that leads it, wife, and to be prais'd; But wifdom is a pearl with most success Sought in ftill water, and beneath clear skies. He that is ever occupied in ftorms,
Or dives not for it, or brings up instead, Vainly induftrious, a disgraceful prize.
The morning finds the self-fequefter'd man Fresh for his task, intend what task he may. Whether inclement seasons recommend His warm but fimple home, where he enjoys, With her who shares his pleasures and his heart, Sweet converfe, fipping calm the fragrant lymph Which neatly fhe prepares; then to his book, Well chofen, and not fullenly perus'd
In felfish filence, but imparted oft
As aught occurs that she may fmile to hear, Or turn to nourishment, digefted well. Or, if the garden with its many cares,
All well repaid, demand him, he attends
The welcome call, confcious how much the hand Of lubbard labour needs his watchful eye, Oft loit'ring lazily, if not o'erfeen,
Or mifapplying his unskilful ftrength. Nor does he govern only or direct,
But much performs himself. No works indeed That afk robust tough finews, bred to toil, Servile employ; but fuch as may amuse, Not tire, demanding rather skill than force. Proud of his well-fpread walls, he views his trees That meet (no barren interval between)
With pleasure more than ev'n their fruits afford, Which, fave himself who trains them, none can feel: Thefe, therefore, are his own peculiar charge; No meaner hand may discipline the shoots, None but his steel approach them. What is weak, Diftemper'd, or has loft prolific pow'rs, Impair'd by age, his unrelenting hand Dooms to the knife: nor does he spare the foft And fucculent, that feeds its giant growth, But barren, at th' expence of neighb'ring twigs Lefs oftentatious, and yet ftudded thick
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