We perfecute, annihilate the tribes,
That draw the sportsman over hill and dale
Fearless, and rapt away from all his cares;
Should never game-fowl hatch her eggs again,
Nor baited hook deceive the fishes eye;
Could pageantry and dance, and feast and song,
Be quell'd in all our fummer-month retreats;
How many felf-deluded nymphs and swains,
Who dream they have a taste for fields and groves, .
Would find them hideous nurs'ries of the spleen,
And crowd the roads, impatient for the town!
They love the country, and none elfe, who feek
For their own fake its filence and its fhade.
Delights, which who would leave, that has a heart-
Sufceptible of pity, or a mind
Cultured, and capable of fober thought,
For all the favage din of the swift pack,
And clamours of the field? detefted sport,
That owes its pleasures to another's pain,
That feeds upon the fobs and dying fhrieks
Of harmless nature, dumb, but yet endu'd
With eloquence that agonies infpire,
Of filent tears and heart-diftending fighs!
Vain tears, alas! and fighs that never find
A correfponding tone in jovial fouls.
Well-one at least is fafe. One fhelter'd hare
Has never heard the fanguinary yell
Of cruel man, exulting in her woes.
Innocent partner of my peaceful home,
Whom ten long years experience of my care
Has made at laft familiar, fhe has loft
Much of her vigilant inftinctive dread,
Not needful here, beneath a roof like mine.
Yes---thou mayft eat thy bread, and lick the hand
That feeds thee; thou may'ft frolic on the floor
At evening, and at night retire secure
To thy ftraw-couch, and flumber unalarm'd.
For I have gain'd thy confidence, have pledg'd
All that is human in me, to protect
Thine unfufpecting gratitude and love.
If I furvive thee, I will dig thy grave,
And when I place thee in it, fighing fay,
I knew at least one hare that had a friend.
How various his employments, whom the world Calls idle, and who juttly in return,
Efteems that bufy world an idler too!
Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen,
Delightful industry enjoy'd at home,
And nature, in her cultivated trim,
Drefs'd to his tafte, inviting him abroad-
Can he want occupation who has these?
Will he be idle who has much t' enjoy?
Me therefore, ftudious of laborious eafe,
Not flothful; happy to deceive the time,
Not waste it; and aware that human life
Is but a loan to be repaid with use,
"When he fhall call his debtors to account,
From whom are all our bleffings, bus'nefs finds
Ev'n here. While fedulous I feek t' improve,
At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd
The mind he gave me; driving it, though flack, Too oft, and much impeded in its work,
By causes not to be divulg❜d in vain,
To its juft point the service of mankind.
He that attends to his interior felf,
That has a heart and keeps it: has a mind
That hungers and fupplies it; and who feeks
A focial, not a diffipated life,
Has bufinefs. Feels himfelf engag'd t' atehieve
No unimportant, though a filent task.
A life all turbulence and noise, may feem
To him that leads it, wife and to be prais'd;
But wifdom is a pearl, with most success
Sought in ftill water, and beneath clear skies,
He that is ever occupy'd in ftorms,
Or dives not for it, or brings up instead,
Vainly induftrious, a difgraceful prize.
The morning finds the felf-fequefter'd man Fresh for his task, intend what task he may. Whether inclement feafons recommend His warm but fimple home, where he enjoys, With her who fhares his pleasures and his heart, Sweet converfe, fipping calm the fragrant lymph, "Which neatly fhe prepares; then to his book Well chofen, and not fullenly perus'd
In felfish filence, but imparted oft,
As aught occurs, that she may fmile to hear,
Or turn to nourishment, digefted well.
Or if the garden with its many cares,
All well repay'd, demand him, he attends
The welcome call, confcious how much the hand
Of lubbard labor needs his watchful eye,
Oft loit'ring lazily, if not o'erfeen,
Or misapplying his unskilful strength.
Nor does he govern only, or direct,
But much performs himself. No works indeed,
That ask robust tough finews bred to toil,
Servile employ-but fuch as may amuse,
Not tire, demanding rather skill than force.
Proud of his well spread walls, he views his trees
That meet (no barren interval between)
With pleasure more than ev'n their fruits afford,
Which, fave himself who trains them, none can feel.
These therefore are his own peculiar charge,
No meaner hand may discipline the fhoots,
None but bis feel approach them. What is weak,
Distemper'd, or has doft prolific pow'rs,
Impair'd by age, his unrelenting hand
Dooms to the knife. Nor does he fpare the foft
And fucculent, that feeds its giant growth,
But barren, at th' expence of neighb'ring twigs,
Lefs oftentatious, and yet ftudded thick
With hopeful gems. The reft, no portion left
That may difgrace his art, or disappoint
Large expectation, he disposes neat,
At meafur'd distances, that air and fun,
Admitted freely, may afford their aid,
And ventilate, and warm the fwelling buds.
Hence fummer has her riches, autumn hence,
And hence, ev'n winter fills his wither'd hand,
With blufhing fruits, and plenty, not his own.
Fair recompence of labour well beflow'd,
And wife precaution, which a clime fo rude
Makes needful ftill, whofe fpring is but the child
Of churlish winter, in her froward moods,
Difcov'ring much the temper of her fire.
For oft, as if in her, the ftream of mild
Maternal nature had revers'd its course,
She brings her infants forth with many fmiles,
But once deliver'd, kills them with a frown.
He therefore, timely warn'd, himself fupplies
Her want of care, fcreening and keeping warm
The plenteous bloom, that no rough blast may sweep
His garlands from the boughs. Again, as oft
As the fun peeps, and vernal airs breathe mild,
The fence withdrawn, he gives them ev'ry beam,
And spreads his hopes before the blaze of day.
To raife the prickly and green-coated gourd,
So grateful to the palate, and when rare,
So coveted, elfe bafe and difesteem'd-
Food for the vulgar merely-is an art,
That toiling ages have but juft matur'd,
And at this moment uneffay'd in song.
Yet gnats have had, and frogs and mice, long fince,
Their eulogy; thofe fang the Mantuan bard,
Miraturque novos fructus et non fua pema. Virg.
|