BEHOLD the labourer-of-the-globe, who toils

In dust in rain in cold and sultry skies:

.

Save but the grain from mildews and the flood,
Naught anxious he what sickly stars ascend.
He knows no laws by-Esculapius given;
He studies none:- Yet him nor midnight fogs
Infest, nor those envenom'd shafts that fly
When rabid Sirius fires the autumnal noon :
His habit pure with plain and temperate meals.
Robust with labour, and by-custom steel'd
To every casualty of varied life;

Serene he bears the peevish eastern blast,
And uninfected breathes the mortal south.

Such the reward of rude and sober life,
Of labour such. By-health the peasant's toil
Is well repaid if exercise were pain

Indeed, and temperance pain: By-arts-like-these
Laconia nursed of-old her hardy sons:

And Rome's unconquer'd legions urged their way Unhurt through every toil, in every clime.

Toil and be strong. By-toil the flaccid nerves Grow firm, and gain a more compacted tone. Come my companions, ye who feel the charms Of nature and the year: come, let us stray Where chance or fancy leads our roving walk; Come while the soft voluptuous breezes fan The fleecy heavens enwrap the limbs with balm And shed a pleasing langour o'er the soul. Nor when bright Winter sows with-prickly-frost The vigorous ether, in-unmanly-warmth

Indulge at home; nor, e'en when Eurus' blasts
This-way-and-that convolve the lab'ring woods,
My liberal walks, save when the skies, in rain
Or fogs, relent, no season should confine
Or to the cloistered gallery or arcade.

Go, climb the mountain; from the ethereal source,
Imbibe the recent gale. The cheerful morn
Beams o'er the hills: Go, mount the exulting steed.

Toil and be strong. Some love the manly foils;
The tennis some; and some the graceful dance:
Others, more hardy, range the purple heath
Or naked stubble; where from-field-to-field
The sounding coveys urge their lab'ring flight;
Eager amid-the-rising-cloud to pour

The gun's unerring thunder;-and there are
Whom still the Meed of-the-Green-Archer charms.
But, if, through genuine tenderness of heart

Or secret want of relish for the Game,
You shun-the-glories-of-the-Chase nor care

To haunt the peopled Stream, the Garden yields
A soft amusement, an humane delight.

To raise the insipid nature of the ground,
Or tame-its-savage-genius to the grace
Of careless sweet rusticity that seems
The amiable result of happy chance,
Is to create, and gives a godlike joy
Which every year improves. Nor thou disdain.
To check the lawless riot of the trees -

To plant the grove, or turn the barren mould.
''hrice-happy days! in-rural-labours pass'd:
Blest Winter-nights! when, as the genial fire
Cheers the old Hall, his cordial family

With-soft-domestic-arts the hours beguile,
And pleasing talk that starts no timorous fame
With-witless-wantonness to hunt-it-down:
Or through-the-Fairy-land-of-tale-or-song
Delighted wander, in fictitious fates
Engaged and all that strikes humanity;
Till, lost in fable, they the stealing-hour-
Of-timely-rest forget. Sometimes, at-eve
His neighbours lift the latch, and bless,-unbid
His festal roof; while, o'er the light repast
And sprightly cups, they mix in social joy;
And through-the-maze-of-conversation trace
Whate'er amuses or improves the mind.

Happiness.

Pollok.

TRUE Happiness has no localities -
No tones provincial - no peculiar garb.
Where Duty goes, she goes; with-Justice
And with Meekness Charity and Love.
goes
Where'er a tear is dried a wounded heart

Bound up a bruised spirit with-the-dew-
Of-sympathy anointed, or a pang-
Of-honest-suffering soothed or injury-
Repeated-oft as-oft by-love forgiven;
Where'er an evil passion is subdued,
Or virtue's feeble embers fann'd; - where'er
A sin is heartily abjured, and left:
Where'er a pious act is done, or breathed
A pious prayer, or wish'd a pious wish ;—
There, is a high and holy place, a spot
Of sacred light a most religious fane,

goes,

Where Happiness, descending, sits and smiles.

Indolence.

Thomson:

It was not by vile loitering in ease
That Greece obtain'd the brighter palm of art;
That soft, yet ardent, Athens learn'd to please -
To keen the wit and to sublime the heart,
In all supreme! complete in every part!
It was not thence majestic Rome arose,
And o'er-the-nations shook her conq'ring dart :
For-sluggard's-brow the laurel never grows ;
Renown is not the child of indolent repose.

Had unambitious mortals minded naught
But in-loose-joy their time to wear away ·
Had they alone the lap-of-Dalliance sought,
Pleased on-her-pillow their dull heads to lay,
Rude nature's state had been our state to-day ;-
No cities e'er their towery fronts had raised,
No arts had made us opulent or gay:
With-brother-brutes the human race had grazed;

None e'er had soar'd to fame, none honour'd been none praised :

Great Homer's song had never fired the breast
To thirst of glory and Heroic deeds;
Sweet Maro's muse, sunk in inglorious rest,
Had silent slept amid the Mincian reeds ;-
The wits-of-modern-times had told their beads,
And monkish legends been their only strains;
Our Milton's Eden had lain wrapt in weeds,
Our Shakespeare stroll'd-and-laugh'd with Warwick-
swains,

Nor had my Spenser charm'd his Mulla's plains.

Caledon.

Scott.

STRANGER! if e'er thine ardent step hath traced
The northern realms of ancient Caledon,
Where the proud Queen-of-Wilderness hath placed
By-lake-and-cataract her lonely throne!
Sublime,-but-sad delight thy soul hath known,
Gazing on pathless glen and mountain high,
Listing where from-the-cliffs the torrents thrown
Mingled their echoes with the eagle's cry
And with the sounding lake and with the moaning sky.

Yes! 't was sublime-but sad. The loneliness
Loaded thy heart, the desert tired thine eye;
And strange and awful fears began to press
Thy bosom, with a stern solemnity:-

Then hast thou wish'd some woodman's cottage nigh,
Something that show'd of life, though low and mean:
Glad sight, its curling wreath of smoke to spy;

Glad sound, its cock's blithe carol would have been, Or children, whooping-wild beneath the willows green.

Such are the scenes, where savage grandeur wakes
An awful thrill, that softens into sighs :-
Such feelings rouse them by dim Rannoch's lakes;
In dark Glencoe, such gloomy raptures rise:
Or farther, where beneath the northern skies
Chides wild Loch Eribol his caverns hoar ;-
But, be the minstrel judge, they yield the prize,
Of desert-dignity, to that dread shore

That sees grim Coolin rise, and hears Coriskin roar.

T