Their length and color from the locks they spare ; Th' claftic fpring of an unwearied foot

That mounts the ftile with cafe, or leaps the

fence,

That play of lungs inhaling and again Refpiring freely the fresh air, that makes Swift pace or steep ascent no toil to me, Mine have not pilfer'd yet ; nor yet impair'd My relish of fair profpe&; scenes that footh'd Or charm'd me young, no longer young, I find Still foothing and of power to charm me still. And witness, dear companion of my walks.. Whofe arm this twentieth winter I perceive Faft lock'd in mine, with pleasure fuch as love Confirm'd by long experience of thy worth And well-tried virtues could alone inspireWitness a joy that thou hast doubled long. Thou know'ft my praise of nature most fincere, And that my raptures are not conjur❜d up To serve occafions of poetic pomp, But genuine, and art partner of them all. How oft upon yon eminence, our pace Has flacken'd to a pause, and we have borne The ruffling wind scarce conscious that it blew While admiration feeding at the eye,

An

1

And ftill unfated, dwelt upon the scene.

Thence with what pleasure have we just difcern'd
The diftant plough flow-moving, and befide

His lab'ring team that fwerv'd not from the track,
The sturdy fwain diminish'd to a boy!

Here Oufe, flow winding through a level plain
Of fpacious meads with cattle sprinkled o'er,
Conducts the eye along his finuous course
Delighted. There, faft rooted in their bank
Stand, never overlook'd, our fav'rite elms,
That screen the herdsman's solitary hut ;
While far beyond and overthwart the stream
That as with molten glass inlays the vale,
The floping land recedes into the clouds;
Displaying on its varied fide, the grace

Of hedge-row beauties numberlefs, fquare tow'r,
Tall fpire, from which the found of chearful bells
Juft undulates upon the lift'ning ear;

Groves, heaths, and smoking villages remote.
Scenes must be beautiful which daily view'd
Please daily, and whofe novelty furvives
Long knowledge and the fcrutiny of years.
Praise justly due to thofe that I describe.
Nor rural fights alone, but rural founds
Exhilarate the fpirit, and restore

The

The tone of languid Nature. Mighty winds
That fweep the skirt of fome far-spreading wood
Of ancient growth, make mufic not unlike
The dash of ocean on his winding fhore,
And lull the spirit while they fill the mind;
Unnumber'd branches waving in the blaft,
And all their leaves faft flutt'ring, all at once.
Nor lefs compofure waits upon the roar
Of distant 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, lose themselves at length
In matted grafs, that with a livelier green
Betrays the fecret of their filent course.
Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds,
But animated Nature sweeter still,

To footh and fatisfy the human ear.

Ten thousand warblers chear the day, and one,
The live-long night: nor thefe alone, whofe notes.
Nice-finger'd art muft 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 artist, whofe ingenious thought
Devised the weather-house, that useful toy!
Fearlefs of humid air and gathering rains.
Forth fteps 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 fuch a season and with fuch 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 close
Environ'd with a ring of branching elms
That overhang the thatch, itself unseen,
Peeps at the vale below; fo thick befet
With foliage of fuch 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 founds as haunt the ear
In village or in town, the bay of curs
Inceffant, clinking hammers, grinding wheels,
And infants clam'rous whether pleas'd or pain'd,

Oft

Oft have I wish'd the peaceful covet mine.
Here, I have said, at least I should poffefs

The poet's treasure, 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 fweet waters of the chryftal well;:
He dips his bowl into the weedy ditch,
And heavy laden brings his bev'rage home
Far-fetch'd and little worth; nor feld omwa its,
Dependent on the baker's punctual call,
To hear his creaking panniers at the door,
Angry and fad and his last crust confumed.
So farewel envy of the peasant's neft.
If folitude make fcant the means of life,
Society for me! thou seeming sweet,
Be still a pleasing object in my view,
My vifit ftill, but never mine abode.
Not distant far, at length a colonade
Invites us.
Monument of ancient tafte,
Now fcorn'd, but worthy of a better fate.-
Our fathers knew the value of a screen
From fultry funs, and in their fhaded walks
And long-protracted low'rs, enjoy'd at noon

The