Young, buxom, warm, in native beauty rich,
Darts not unmeaning looks; and, where her eye
Points an approving fmile, with double force,
The cudgel rattles, and the wrestler twines.
Age too fhines out; and, garrulous, recounts
The feats of youth. Thus they rejoice; nor think
That, with to-morrow's fun, their annual toil
Begins again the never-ceafing round.
Oh, knew he but his happiness, of men The happiest he! who, far from public rage, Deep in the vale, with a choice few retir'd, Drinks the pure pleasures of the Rural Life. What though the dome be wanting, whofe proud gate, Each morning, vomits out the fneaking crowd Of flatterers false, and in their turn abus'd? Vile intercourfe! What though the glittering robe, Of every hue reflected light can give,
Or floating loofe, or stiff with mázy gold,
The pride and gaze of fools! oppress him not?
What though, from utmost land and fea purvey'd,
For him each rarer tributary life
Bleeds not, and his infatiate table heaps
With luxury and death? what though his bowl
Flames not with coftly juice; nor funk in beds,
Oft of gay care, he toffes out the night,
Or melts the thoughtless hours in idle state?
What though he knows not thofe fantastic joys,
That still amufe the wanton, ftill deceive;
A face of pleafure, but a heart of pain;
Their hollow moments undelighted all ?
Sure peace is his; a folid life, eftrang'd
To disappointment, and fallacious hope:
Rich in content, in Nature's bounty rich,
In herbs and fruits; whatever greens the Spring,
When heaven defcends in fhowers; or bends the bough
When Summer reddens, and when Autumn beams;
Or in the wintery glebe whatever lies
Conceal'd, and fattens with the richest fap :
These are not wanting; nor the milky drove,
Luxuriant, fpread o'er all the lowing vale;
Nor bleating mountains; nor the chide of streams,
And hum of bees, inviting fleep fincere
Into the guiltless breast, beneath the shade,
Or thrown at large amid the fragrant hay ;
Nor aught befides of profpect, grove, or fong,
Dim grottoes, gleaming lakes, and fountain clear. 1270
Here too dwells fimple truth; plain innocence;
Unfullied beauty; found unbroken youth,
Patient of labour, with a little pleas'd;
Health ever blooming; unambitious toil;
Calm contemplation, and poetic ease.
Let others brave the flood in quest of gain,
And beat, for joyless months, the gloomy wave.
Let fuch as deem it glory to destroy,
Rufh into blood, the fack of cities feek ;
Unpierc'd, exulting in the widow's wail,
The virgin's fhriek, and infant's trembling cry.
Let fome, far distant from their native foil,
Urg'd or by want or harden'd avarice,
Find other lands beneath another fun.
Let this through cities work his eager way,
By legal outrage and establish'd guile,
The focial fenfe extinct; and that ferment
Mad into tumult the feditious herd,
Or melt them down to flavery. Let these
Infnare the wretched in the toils of law,
Fomenting difcord, and perplexing right,
An iron race! and those of fairer front,
But equal inhumanity, in courts,
Delusive pomp, and dark cabals, delight;
Wreathe the deep bow, diffuse the lying smile,
And tread the weary labyrinth of ftate.
While he, from all the stormy paffions free
That restless men involve, hears, and but hears,
At diftance fafe, the human tempest roar,
Wrapt clofe in confcious peace. The fall of kings,
The rage of nations, and the crush of ftates,
Move not the man, who, from the world escap'd,
In ftill retreats, and flowery folitudes,
To Nature's voice attends, from month to month,
And day to day, through the revolving year;
Admiring, fees her in her every shape;
Feels all her fweet emotions at his heart;
Takes what the liberal gives, nor thinks of more.
He, when young Spring protrudes the bursting gems,
Marks the first bud, and fucks the healthful gale 1310
Into his freshen'd foul; her genial hours
He full enjoys; and not a beauty blows,
And not an opening bloffom breathes in vain.
In Summer he, beneath the living fhade,
Such as o'er frigid Tempe wont to wave,
Or Hemus cool, reads what the Mufe, of thefe,
Perhaps, has in immortal numbers fung;
Or what the dictates writes: and oft, an eye
Shot round, rejoices in the vigorous year.
When Autumn's yellow luftre gilds the world,
And tempts the fickled swain into the field,
Seiz'd by the general joy, his heart diftends
With gentle throws; and through the tepid gleams
Deep mufing, then he best exerts his fong.
Ev'n Winter wild to him is full of blifs.
The mighty tempeft, and the hoary waste,
Abrupt, and deep, ftretch'd o'er the buried earth,
Awake to folemn thought. At night the skies,
Difclos'd, and kindled, by refining froft,
Pours every luftre on th' exalted eye.
A friend, a book, the stealing hours fecure,
And mark them down for wisdom. With fwift wing,
O'er land and sea imagination roams ;
Or truth, divinely breaking on his mind,
Elates his being, and unfolds his powers;
Or in his breast heroic virtue burns.
The touch of kindred too and love he feels;
The modeft eye, whose beams on his alone
Extatic fhine; the little ftrong embrace
Of prattling children, twin'd around his neck,
And emulous to please him, calling forth
The fond parental foul. Nor purpose gay,
Amusement, dance, or fong, he fternly scorns;
For happiness and true philofophy
Are of the focial still, and smiling kind.
This is the life which those who fret in guilt,
And guilty cities, never knew; the life,
Led by primeval ages, uncorrupt,
When angels dwelt, and God himself, with man!
Oh, Nature! all-sufficient! over all !
Enrich me with the knowledge of thy works!
Snatch me to heaven; thy rolling wonders there,
World beyond world, in infinite extent,
Profufely scatter'd o'er the blue immense,
Shew me; their motions, periods, and their laws, 1355
Give me to fcan; through the disclosing deep
Light my blind way; the mineral ftrata there;
Thrust, blooming, thence the vegetable world;
O'er that the rifing fyftem, more complex,
Of animals; and higher still, the mind,
The varied fcene of quick-compounded thought,
And where the mixing paffions endless shift;
These ever open to my ravish'd eye;
A fearch, the flight of time can ne'er exhaust !
But if to that unequal; if the blood,
In fluggish streams about my heart, forbid
That beft ambition; under clofing shades,
Inglorious, lay me by the lowly brook,
And whisper to my dreams. From Thee begin,
Dwell all on Thee, with Thee conclude my fong;
And let me never, never fray from Thee!
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