Oh may I live exempted (while I live
Guiltless of pampered appetite obfcene)
From pangs arthritic, that infeft the toe
Of libertine excefs. The sOFA fuits
The gouty limb, 'tis true; but gouty limb,
Though on a SOFA, may I never feel:
For I have loved the rural walk through lanes
Of graffy fwarth, close cropt by nibbling sheep,
And fkirted thick with intertexture firm
Of thorny boughs; have loved the rural walk
Over hills, through vallies, and by rivers' brink,
Ever fince a truant boy I paffed my bounds
To enjoy a ramble on the banks of Thames;
And ftill remember, nor without regret
Of hours, that forrow fince has much endeared,
How oft, my flice of pocket store confumed,
Still hungering, pennylefs, and far from home,
I fed on scarlet hips and ftony haws,
Or blushing crabs, or berries, that imbofs
The bramble, black as jet, or floes auftere.
Hard fare! but such as boyish appetite
Difdains not; nor the palate, undepraved
By culinary arts, unfavory deems.
No SOFA then awaited my return;
Nor SOFA then I needed. Youth repairs
His wafted fpirits quickly, by long toil
Incurring fhort fatigue; and, though our years,
As life declines, speed rapidly away,
And not a year but pilfers as he goes
Some youthful grace, that age would gladly keep; A tooth or auburn lock, and by degrees
Their length and colour from the locks they fpare;
The elaftic fpring of an unwearied foot,
That mounts the ftile with ease, or leaps the fence,
That play of lungs, inhaling and again
Refpiring freely the fresh air, that makes
Swift pace or steep afcent no toil to me,
Mine have not pilfered yet; nor yet impaired
My relish of fair profpect; fcenes that foothed
Or charmed me young, no longer young, I find.
Still foothing, and of power to charm me still.
And witnefs, dear companion of my walks,
Whose arm this twentieth winter I perceive
Faft locked in mine, with pleasure fuch as love,
Confirmed by long experience of thy worth
And well-tried virtues, could alone infpire-
Witness a joy that thou haft doubled long.
Thou knoweft my praise of nature most fincere,
And that my raptures are not conjured up
To serve occafions of poetic pomp,
But genuine, and art partner of them all.
How oft upon yon eminence our pace
Has flackened to a pause, and we have borne
The ruffling wind, fcarce confcious that it blew,
While admiration feeding at the eye,
And still unfated, dwelt upon the scene.
Thence with what pleasure have we just discerned
The diftant plough flow moving, and befide
His labouring team, that fwerved not from the track,
The sturdy swain diminished to a boy!
Here Ouse, flow winding through a level plain
Of fpacious meads with cattle sprinkled over,
Conducts the eye along his finuous course
Delighted. There, faft rooted in their bank,
Stand, never overlooked, our favourite elms,
That screen the herdsman's folitary hut;
While far beyond, and overthwart the ftream
That, as with molten glass, inlays the vale,
The floping land recedes into the clouds;
Displaying on its varied fide the grace
Of hedge-row beauties numberless, square tower,
Tall fpire, from which the found of cheerful bells
Juft undulates upon the liftening ear,
Groves, heaths, and smoking villages, remote.
Scenes must be beautiful, which daily viewed
Please daily, and whose novelty furvives
Long knowledge and the fcrutiny of years.
Praife juftly due to those that I describe.
Nor rural fights alone, but rural founds, Exhilarate the spirit, and restore
The tone of languid Nature. Mighty winds,
That sweep the skirt of fome far-fpreading wood
Of ancient growth, make mufic not unlike
The dafh of ocean on his winding shore,
And lull the spirit while they fill the mnd;
Unnumbered branches waving in the blast,
And all their leaves faft fluttering, all at once.
Nor lefs composure waits upon the roar
Of diftant floods, or on the fofter voice
Of neighbouring fountain, or of rills that flip
Through the cleft rock, and, chiming as they fall
Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length
In matted grafs, that with a livelier green
Betrays the fecret of their filent course.
Nature inanimate employs fweet sounds,
But animated nature fweeter ftill,
To footh and fatisfy the human ear.
Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one
The live-long night: nor these alone, whofe notes
Nice fingered art muft emulate in vain,
But cawing rooks, and kites that swim fublime
In ftill repeated circles, fcreaming loud,
The jay, the pie, and even the boding owl,
That hails the rifing moon, 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 fake.
Peace to the artist, whofe ingenious thought Devised the weather-house, that useful toy! Fearless of humid air and gathering rains, Forth fteps the man-an emblem of myself! More delicate his timorous mate retires. When Winter foaks the fields, and female feet, Too weak to struggle with tenacious clay, Or ford the rivulets, are beft at home,
The task of new discoveries falls on me.
At fuch a season, and with fuch a charge,
Once went I forth; and found, till then unknown,
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