Diversified with trees of every growtb,
Alike, yet various. Here the gray smooth trunks
Of ash, or lime, or beech, distinctly shine,
Within the twilight of their distant shades;
There, lost: beluind a rising ground, the wood
Seems sunk, and shortned to its topmost boughs.
No tree in all the grove but as its charms,
Though each its hue peculiar; paler sonue,
And of a wannish gray; the willow such,
And poplar, that with silver lines his leaf,
And ash far-stretching bis umbrageous arm;
Of deeper green the elm; and deeper still,
Lord of the woods, the long surviving oak.
Some glossy-leaved, and shining in the sun,
The maple, and the beech, of oily nuts,
Prolifie, and the line at dewy eye
Diffusing odours: nor upnoted pass
The sycamore, capricious in attire,
Now green, now tawny, and, ere autumn yet
Have changed the woods, in scarlet honours bright
Over these, but far beyond (a spacious map »
of hill and valley interposed between),
The Ouse, dividing the well-watered: land,
Now glitters in the sun, and now retires;
As bashful, yet impatieut to be seen.

Hence the declivity is sharp and short,
And such the re-ascent: between them wcept:-
A little naiad her impoverished urn
All summer long, which winter fills again.

The folded gates would bar my progress now,
But that the Lord of this enclosed demesne,
Communicative of the good he owns,
Admits me to a share; the guiltless eye
Commits no wrong, nor wastes what it enjoys.
Refreshing change? where now the blazing sun?
By short transition we have lost his glare,
And stepped at once into a cooler clime.
Ye fallen avenues! once more I mourn
Your fate unnerited, once more rejoice
That yét a remnant of your race survives.
How airy and how light the graceful arel,
Yet awful as the consecrated roof
he-echoing pious anthems! while beneath
The chequered earth seems restless as a flood
Brushed by the wind. So sportive is the light, v
Shot through the boughs, it dances as they dance,
Shadow and sunshine intermingling quick,
And darkening and enlightening, as the leaves 1:2
Play wanton, every moment, every spot.,
And now, with nerves new-braced and spirits

cheered,
We tread the wilderness, whose well-rolled walksy,
With curvature of slow and easy sweep
Deception innocent-give ample space
To narrow bounds. The grove receives us next;
Between the upright shafts of whose tall elms
We may discern the thresher at his task.
Thump after thump resounds the constant fail,

* See the foregoing note:

That seems to swing uncertain, and yet falls
Full on the destined ear. Wide flies the chaff,
The rustling straw sends up a frequent mist
Of atoms, sparkling in the noon-day beam.
Come hither ye that press your beds of down,
And sleep not; see him sweating over his bread
Before he eats it. -"Tis the primal curse,
But softened into mercy; made the pledge
Of cheerful days, and nights without à groan.

By ceaseless action all that is subsists.
Constant rotation of the unwearied wheel
That nature rides upon maintains her health,
Her beauty, her fertility. She dreads
An instant's pause, and lives but while she moves.
Its own revolvency upholds the world.
Winds froin all quarters agitate the air,
And fit the limpid element for use,
Else noxious: oceans, rivers, lakes, and streams,
All feel the freshening impulse, and are cleansed
By restless undulation: even the oak
Thrives by the rude concussion of the storm ::
He seems indeed indignant, and to feel
The impression of the blast with proud disdain,
Frowning, as if in his unconscious arm
He held the thunder but the monarch owes
kis firm stability to what he scorns,
More fixt below, they

e more disturbed above. The law, by which all creatures else are bound, Binds nan the lord of all. Himself derives No mean advantage from a kindred cause,

From strenuous "toil his hours of sweetest ease.
The sedentary stretch their lazy length
When custom bids, but no refreshnient find,
For none they need: the languid eye, the cheek
Deserted of its bloom, the flaccid, shrunk,
And withered muscle, and the vapid soul,
Reproach their owner with that love of rest,
To which he forfeits even the rest he loves.
Not such the alert and active. Measure life
By its true worth, the comforts it affords,
And their's alone seems worthy of the name.
Good health, and, its associate in the most,
Good temper; spirits prompt to undertake,
And not soop spent, though in an arduous task;
The powers of fancy and strong thought are their's;
Even age itself seems privileged in them,
With clear exemption from its own defects.
A sparkling eye beneath a wrinkled front
The veteran shows, and, gracing a gray: beard
With youthful similes, descends toward the grave
Sprightly, and old almost without decay.

Like a coy maiden, ease, when courted most,
Farthest retires--an idol, at whose sbrine
Who oftenest sacrifice are favoured least.
The love of Nature and the scenes she draws,
Is Nature's dictate. Strange! there should be found,
Who, self-imprisoned in their proud saloons,
Renounce the odours of the

орені

field For the unscented fictions of the loom; Who, satisfied with only penciled scenes,

Prefer to the performance of a God
The inferior wonders of an artist's hand!
Lovely indeed the mimic works of art;
But Nature's works far lovelier. I admire,
None more admires the painter's magic skill,
Who shews me that which I shall never see,
Conveys a distant country into mine,
And throws Italian light on English wallssi.
But imitative strokes.can do no more
Than please the eye-sweet Nature's every sense.
The air salubrious of her lofty hills,
The cheering fragrance of her dewy vales,
And niusic of her woods no words of man
May rival these; these all bespeak a power
Peculiar, and exclusively her own..
Beneath the open sky she spreads the feast;
'Tis free to all-'tis every day renewed;
Who scorns it starves deservedly at home.
He does not scorn it, who, imprisoned long
In some un wholesome dungeon, and a prey
To sallow sickness, which the vapours, dank
And clammy, of his dark abode have bred,
Escapes at last to liberty and light:
His cheek tecovers soon its healthful hue;
His eye relumines its extinguished fires ;
He walks, he leaps, he runsmis winged with'joy,
And riots in the sweets of every breeze,
He does not scorn it, wbó has long endured on?
A fever's agonies, and fed on drugs,
Nor yet the mariner, his blood infanted