Faction embroils the world; and ev'ry tongue And sooth'd my harrass'd mind with sweet repose, 'Tis not that rural sports alone invite ; In the revolving labours of the year. When the fresh Spring in all her state is crown'd, And meads lays waste before his sweeping hand. Now, when the height of heav'n bright Phoebus gains, And level rays cleave wide the thirsty plains, When heifers seek the shade and cooling lake, And in the middle path-way basks the snake; O lead me, guard me from the sultry hours: Hide me, ye forests! in your closest bowers, Where the tall oak his spreading arms entwines, And with the beech a mutual shade combines; Where flows the murm'ring brook, inviting dreams, And bord'ring hazle overhangs the streams, Whose rolling currents, winding round and round, With frequent falls make all the woods resound. Upon the mossy couch my limbs I cast, And e'en at noon the sweets of evening taste. Here I peruse the Mantuan's Georgic strains, And learn the labours of Italian swains; In ev'ry page I see new landscapes rise, And all Hesperia opens to my eyes. I wander o'er the various rural toil, And know the nature of each different soil: Climb round the poles, and rise in graceful row: And paw with restless hoof the smoking ground: Or when the ploughman leaves the task of day, And trudging homeward whistles on the way; When the big-udder'd cows with patience stand, Waiting the stroakings of the damsel's hand; (No warbling cheers the woods; the feather'd choir To court kind slumbers, to the sprays retire ;) When no rude gale disturbs the sleeping trees, Nor aspen leaves confess the gentlest breeze; Engag'd in thought, to Neptune's bounds I stray, To take my farewell of the parting day : Far in the deep the sun his glory hides, A streak of gold the sea and sky divides: The purple clouds their amber linings show, And edg'd with flame rolls ev'ry wave below: Here pensive I behold the fading light, And o'er the distant billow lose my sight. Now night in silent state begins to rise, While I survey the works of providence. Who reins the winds, gives the vast ocean bounds, And circumscribes the floating worlds their rounds; My soul should overflow in songs of praise, And my Creator's name inspire my lays! As in successive course the seasons roll, So circling pleasures recreate the soul. When genial Spring a living warmth bestows, And o'er the year her verdant mantle throws, No swelling inundation hides the grounds, But crystal currents glide within their bounds; The finny brood their wonted haunts forsake, Float in the sun, and skim along the lake; With frequent leap they range the shallow streams, Their silver coats reflect the dazzling beams. Now let the fisherman his toils prepare, And arm himself with ev'ry watery snare; His hooks, his lines, peruse with careful eye, Increase his tackle, and his rod re-tie. When floating clouds their spongy fleeces drain, Troubling the streams with swift-descending rain, And waters tumbling down the mountain's side, Bear the loose soil into the swelling tide; Then, soon as vernal gales begin to rise, And drive the liquid burthen through the skies, |