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Has slackened to a pause, and we have borne
The ruffling wind, scarce conscious that it blew,
While admiration feeding at the eye,
And still unsated, dwelt upon the scene.
Thence with what pleasure have we just discerped
The distant plough slow moving, and beside
His labouring team, that swerved not from the track,
The sturdy swain diminished to a boy!
Here Ouse, slow winding through a level plain
Of spacious meads with cattle spriokled over,
Conducts the eye along his sinuous course
Delighted. There, fast rooted in their bank,
Stand, never overlooked, our favourite elms,
That screen the herdsman's solitárý hut;
While far beyond, and overthwart the stream
That, as with molten glass, inlays 'the vale,
The sloping land recedes into the clouds;
Displaying on its varied side the grace
Of hedge-row beauties numberless,' square tower,
Tall spire, from which the sound of cheerful bells
Jusťundulates tipon the listening ear,
Groves, heaths, and smoking villages, remote:
Scenes must be beautiful, which daily viewed:
Please daily, and whose novelty survives"
Long knowledge and the seratiny of years.
Praise justly due to those that I describe.

Nor' rural fights alone, but rural sounds,
Exhilarate the spirit, and restore
The tone of languid Nature." Mighty winds,
That sweep the skirt of some far-spreading wood

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Of ancient growth, make music noť uplike,
The dash of ocean on his winding shore,
And lull the spirit while they fill the mind;
Unnumbered branches waving in the blast,
and all their leaves fast flattering, all at once.
Nor less composure waits upon the roar
Of distant floods, or on the softer yoice
Of neighbouring fountain, or of rills that slip
Through the cleft rock, and, chiming as they fall
Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length
In matted grass, that with a livelier green
Betrays the secret of their silent course.
Nature inanimate employs,sweet sounds,
But animated nature sweeter still,
To soothe and satisfy the human ear.
Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one
The live long night: nor these alone, whose notes
Nice fingered art must emulate in
But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime
In still repeated circles, screaming loud,
The jay, the pie, and even the boding owl,
That hails the rising mooy, 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 sake.

l'eace to the artist, whose ingenious thought
Devised the weather house, that useful toy!
Fearless of humid air and gathering rains,
Forth steps. the man--an einblem of myself!
More delicate his timorous mate retires,


When Winter soaks the fields, and female feet,
Too weak to struggle with tenacious clay,
Or ford the rivülets, are blest at home,
The task of new discoveries falls on me.
At such a season, and with such a charge,
Once went I forth; and found, till then unknown,
A cottage, whither oft we since repair:
'Tis perched upon the green-hill top, but close
Environed with a ring of branching elms,
That overhang the thatch, itself unseen
Peeps at the vale below; so thick beset
With foliage of such dark redundant growth
I called tire low-roofed lodge the peasant's nest.
And hidden as it is, and far remote
From such unpleasing sounds, as haunt the ear,
In village or in town, the bay of curs
Incessant, clinking hammers, grinding wheels,
And infants clamourous whether pleased or pained,
Oft have I wished the peaceful covert mine.
Here, I have said, at least I should possess
The poet's treasure, silence, 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 site forbids the wretch
To drink sweet waters of the erystal well!
He dips his bowl-into the weedy ditch,
And, heavy-laden, brings his beverage home,
Far fetched and little worth; not seldom waits,
Dependant on the baker's punctual call,

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To hear his creaking pauniers at the door,
Angry and.sad, and his last crust consumed.
So farewell envy of the peasant's nest !
If solitude make scant the means of life,
Society for me!-thou seeming sweet,
Be still a pleasing object in my view; }
My visit still, but never mine abode,

Not distant far a length of colonnade
Invites us. Monument of ancient taste,
Now scorned, but worthy of a better fate.
Our fathers knew the value of a screen
From sultry suns: and, in their shaded walks
And long protracted bowers; enjoyed at noon.
The gloom and coolness of declining day.
We bear our shades about us; self-deprived
Of other screen, the thin umbrella spread,
And range an Indian waste without a tree,
Thanks to * Benevolus-he spares me yet
These chesnuts ranged in corresponding lines;
And, though himself so polished, still reprieves,
The obsolete prolixity of shade."

Descending now (but cautious, lest too fast) A sudden steep, upon a rustic bridge We pass a gulph, in which the willows dip Their pendent boughs, stooping as if to drink. Hence, ancle deep in moss and flowery thyme, We mount again, and feel at every step

* John Courtnay Throckmorton, Esq. of Weston Underwoodo

Our foot half sunk in hillocks green and soft;" / 01" Raised by the mole, the miner of the soili? He not unlike the great onęs of mankind, Disfigures earth: and, plotting in the dark, 1.)

Toils much to earn a monumental pile, podkan That may record the mischiefs he has done.

The summit gained, behold the proud alcovej That crowns it ! yet not all its pride secures The grand retreat from injuries impressed By rural carvers, who with knives deface The pannels, leaving an obscure, rude name In characters uncouth, and spelt amiss. So strong the zeal to immortalize himself Beats in the breast of man, that even a few, Few transient years, won from the abyss abhorred Of blank oblivion, seem a glorious prize, And even to a clown. Now roves


eyez. And posted on this speculative height,

: Exults in its command. The sheep-fold here Pours out its fleecy tenants over the glebe. At first, progressive as a stream, they seek The middle field; but; scattered by degrees aj Each to his choice; soon whiten all the land. There from the sun-burnt: hay-field homeward

creeps The loaded wain; while lightened of its charge The wain that meets it passes, swiftly by; The boorish driver leaning over

his Vociferous, and impatient of delay... vaihett Nor less attractive is the woodland scenen


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