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