And keen reflection pain. · Deep to the root
Of vegetation parch'd, the cleaving fields
And flippery lawn an arid hue disclose,
Blast Fancy's bloom, and wither even the Soul.
Echo no more returns the cheerful sound
Of sharpening fcythe: the mower sinking heaps
O’er him the humid hay, with flowers perfum’d;
And scarce a chirping grass-hopper is heard
Thro' the dumb mead. Distressful Nature pants,
The very streams look languid from afar;
Or, thro' th’unshelter'd glade, impatient, seem
To hurl into the covert of the grove.

All-conquering Heat, oh intermit thy wrath!
And on my throbbing temples potent thus
Beam not so fierce! Inceffant still you flow,
And still another fervent flood succeeds,
Pour'd on the head profuse. In vain I figh,
And restless turn, and look around for Night;
Night is far off; and hotter hours approach.
Thrice happy he! who on the sunless fide
Of a romantic mountain, forest-crown’d,
Beneath the whole collected fhade reclines :
Or in the gelid caverns, woodbine-wrought,
And fresh bedew'd with ever-spouting streams,
Sits coolly calm ; while all the world withont,

Unsatisfied, and sick, tosses in noon.
Emblem instructive of the virtuous Man,
Who keeps his temper'd mind serene, and pure,
And every paffion aptly harmoniz'd,
Amid a jarring world with vice inflam'd.

Welcome, ye shades! ye bowery thickets, hail!
Ye lofty pines! ye venerable oaks!
Ye ashes wild, resounding o'er the steep!
Delicious is your shelter to the soul,
As to the hunted hart the fallying spring,
Or stream full-flowing, that his swelling fides
Laves, as he floats along the herbag'd brink.
Cool, thro' the nerves, your pleasing comfort glides ;
The heart beats glad ; the fresh expanded eye
And ear resume their watch; the finews knit;
And life shoots swift thro’ all the lightened limbs.

Around th' adjoining brook, that purls along
The vocal grove, now fretting o'er a rock,
Now scarcely moving thro' a reedy pool,
Now starting to a sudden stream, and now
Gently diffus'd into a limpid plain ;
A various groupe the herds and flocks compose,
Rural confufion! On the grassy bank
Some ruminating lie; while others stand
Half in the flood, and often bending fip

The circling surface. In the middle droops
The strong laborious ox, of honest front,
Which incompos'd he shakes ; and from his fides
The troublous insects lashes with his tail,
Returning still. Amid his subjects fafe,
Slumbers the monarch' swain ; his careless arm
Thrown round his head, on downy moss sustain'd;
Here laid his scrip, with wholesome viands fill'd;
There, listening every noise, his watchful dog.

Light fly his flumbers, if perchance a flight
Of angry gad-flies faften on the herd;
That startling scatters from the shallow brook,
In search of lavish stream. Tosling the foam,
They scorn the keeper's voice, and scour the plain,
Thro' all the bright severity of noon;
While, from their labouring breasts, a hollow moan
Proceeding, runs low-bellowing round the hills.

Oft in this season too the horse, provok'd, While his big finews full of spirits swell, Trembling with vigour, in the heat of blood, Springs the high fence; and, o'er the field effus'd, Darts on the gloomy flood, with stedfaft eye, And heart estranged to fear: his nervous chest, Luxuriant, and erect, the seat of strength! Bears down th' opposing stream: quenchless his thirst;

He takes the river at redoubled draughts;
And with wide noftrils, snorting, skims the wave.

Still let me pierce into the midnight depth
Of yonder grove, of wildest largest growth:
That, forming high in air a woodland quire,
Nods o'er the mount beneath. At every step,
Solemn, and slow, the shadows blacker fall,
And all is awful liftening gloom around.

These are the haunts of Meditation, these The scenes where ancient bards th' inspiring breath, Ecstatic, felt; and, from this world retir'd, Convers’d with angels, and immortal forms, On gracious errands bent: to save the fall Of virtue struggling on the brink of vice; In waking whispers, and repeated dreams, To hint pure thought, and warn the favour'd soul For future trials fated to prepare; To prompt the poet, who devoted gives His muse to better themes ; to soothe the pangs Of dying worth, and from the patriot's breast (Backward to mingle in detefted war, But foremost when engag'd) to turn the death ; And numberless such offices of love Daily, and nightly, zealous to perform.

Shook sudden from the bosom of the sky, A thousand shapes or glide athwart the dusk, Or stalk majestic on. Deep-rous'd, I feel A sacred terror, a severe delight, Creep thro' my mortal frame; and thus, methinks, A voice, than human more, th' abstracted ear Of fancy strikes. os Be not of us afraid, “ Poor kindred.Man! thy fellow-creatures, we “ From the fame Parent-Power our beings drew, “ The fame our Lord, and laws, and great pursuit. “ Once some of us, like thee, thro' stormy life, “ Toil'd, tempeft-beaten, ere we could attain “ This holy calm, this harmony of mind, “ Where purity and peace immingle charms. “ Then fear not us; but with responsive song, “ Amid these dim recefses, undisturb’d

By noisy folly and discordant vice, “ Of Nature fing with us, and Nature's Gon. “ Here frequent, at the visionary hour, “ When muling midnight reigns or filent noon, “ Angelic harps are in full concert heard, “ And voices chaunting from the wood-crown'd hill, “ The deepening dale, or inmoft fylvan glade : " A privilege bestow'd by us, alone,