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He leaves the fens, and leaps upon the ground,
And hiling rolls his glaring eyes around.
With thirst inflam'd, impatient of the heats,
He rages in the fields, and wide deftrudion
O! let not sleep my closing eyes invadę
In open plains, or in the secret fhade,
When he, renew'd in all the speckled pride
Of pompous youth, has cast his flough aside,
And in his summer liv'ry rolls along,
Erect, and brandishing his forky tongue,
Leaving his nest and his imperfect young ;
And, thoughtless of his eggs, forgets to rear
The hopes of poison for the coming year.
How clad with smiles the vernal morn!
How gay the bloom-bespangled thorn !
The lark is up, the welkin rings,
And with his flock the shepherd sings:
O! let my days with his be spent,
In rural shades with mild content,
The blackbird warbles on the bough,
The milkmaid sings beneath her cow;
The mower, up with early dawn,
Prepares to fleece the clover'd lawn;
The farmer views his blooming wheat,
And starts the lev’ret from her seat;
Whilst I this lonely vale frequent,
To muse the praises of content.
Pleas'd with my little flock of sheep
That on my native downs I keep,
Mine are the joys of peace and health,
And sure I want no greater wealth:
No vain desires my soul infest,
Nor dwells ambition in my breast :
Heaven, all such follies to prevent,
Tamed all my thoughts to soft content.
When day declining sheds a milder gleam, What time the may-iy haunts the pool or stream;
When the still owl kims round the graffy me ad,
What time the tim'rous hare limps forth to feed;
Then be the time to steal adown the vale,
And listen to the vagrant cuckoo's tale ;
To hear the clam'rous curlew call his mate,
Or the soft quail his tender pain relate ;
To see the swallow sweep the dark’ning plain
Belated, to support her infant train ;
To mark the swift in rapid giddy ring
Dash round the steeple, unsubdued of wing
Amulive birds ! fay where your hid retreat
When the froft rages and the tempests beat?
Whence your return, by fuch nice instinct led,
When spring, soft season, lifts her bloomy head?
Such baffled fearches mock man's prying pride :
The God of nature is your secret guide.
While deep'ning shades obscure the face of day,
To yonder bench, leaf-shelter'd, let us stray,
Till blended objects fail the swimming fight,
And all the fading landscape links in night ;
To hear the drowsy dor come brushing by,
With buzzing wing, or the drill cricket cry.; .
To see the feeding bat glance thro' the wood;
To catch the distant falling of the flood;
While o'er the cliff th' awaken'd churn owl hung
Thro' the still gloom protracts his chati’ring song,
While high in air, and pois'd upon his wings,
Unseen, the soft enamour'd woodlark fings:
Each rural fight, each sound, each smell, combine,
The tinkling sheep-bell or the breath of kine;
The new-mown hay that scents the swellipg'
Or cottage chimney smoking thro' the trees.
| See the wretch that long has tost
On the thorny bed of pain,
At length repair his vigour loft,
And breathe, and walk again :
| The meanest flow'ret of the vale,
The simplest note that swells the gale, The common sun, the air, the skies,
To him are op’ning paradise.
The Whirlwind, To Leven Water.
WHEN forth from gloomy clouds a whirlwind
springs, That bears the thunder on its dreadful wings, Wide o'er the blasted fields the tempeft sweeps, Then, gather'd, settles on the hoary deeps ; Th' afflicted deeps tumultuous mix and roar ; The waves behind impel the waves before, Wide rolling, foaming high, and tumbling to
Pure stream ! in whose transparent wave
My youthful limbs I wont to lave ;
No torrents stain thy limpid source ;
No rocks impede thy dimpling course,
That sweetly warbles o'er its bed,
With while, round, polish'd pebbles spread;
While, lightly pois'd, the scaly brood
In myriads cleave thy crystal flood;