Infected with the manners and the modes,
It knew not once, the country wins me ftill..
I never framed a wish, or formed a plan,
That flattered me with hopes of earthly blifs,
But there I laid the fcene. There early ftrayed i
My fancy, ere yet liberty of choice
Had found me, or the hope of being free.
My very dreams were rural; rural too
The firft-born efforts of my youthful mufe,
Sportive and jingling her poetic bells,
Ere yet her ear was mistress of their powers.
No bard could please me but whofe ĺyre was tuned
To Nature's praises. Heroes and their feats
Fatigued me, never weary of the pipe
Of Tityrus, affembling, as he fang,
The ruftic throng beneath his favourite beech.
Then Milton had indeed a poet's charms:
New to my tafte his Paradise surpaffed
The ftruggling efforts of my boyish tongue
To speak its excellence. I danced for joy.
I marvelled much that, at fo ripe an age.
As twice feven years, his beauties had then first
Engaged my wonder; and admiring ftill,.
And still admiring, with regret supposed-
The joy half loft because not sooner found.
There too enamoured of the life I loved,
Pathetic in its praise, in its pursuit
Determined, and poffeffing it at laft
With transports, fuch as favoured lovers feel,
I ftudied, prized, and wished that I had known,
Ingenious Cowley! and, though now reclaimed
By modern lights from an erroneous taste,
I cannot but lament thy fplendid wit
Entangled in the cobwebs of the schools.
I ftill revere thee, courtly though retired;
Though ftretched at ease in Chertsey's filent bowers,
Not unemployed; and finding rich amends
For a loft world in folitude and verse.
"Tis born with all: the love of Nature's works Is an ingredient in the compound man,
Infused at the creation of the kind.
And, though the Almighty Maker has throughout
Difcriminated each from each, by ftrokes
And touches of his hand, with fo much art
Diversified, that two were never found
Twins at all points—yet this obtains in all,
That all difcern a beauty in his works,
Andall can tafte them: minds,that have been formed
And tutored with a relish more exact,
But none without some relish, none unmoved.
It is a flame, that dies not even there,
Where nothing feeds it: neither business, crowds,
Nor habits of luxurious city-life,
Whatever else they smother of true worth
In human bofoms; quench it or abate.
The villas, with which London ftands begirt,
Like a fwarth Indian with his belt of beads,
Prove it. A breath of unadulterate air,
The glimpse of a green pasture, how they cheer
The citizen, and brace his languid frame!
Ev'n in the ftifling bofom of the town
A garden, in which nothing thrives, has charms,
That footh the rich poffeffor; much confoled,
That here and there fome sprigs of mournful mint,
Of nightshade, or valerian, grace the well
He cultivates. These ferve him with a hint
That nature lives; that fight refreshing green
Is ftill the livery fhe delights to wear,
Though fickly famples of the exuberant whole.
What are the casements lined with creeping herbs,
The prouder fashes fronted with a range
Of orange, myrtle, or the fragrant weed,
The Frenchman's darling? are they not all proofs
That man, immured in cities, still retains
His inborn inextinguishable thirst
Of rural scenes, compensating his lofs
By fupplemental fhifts, the beft he may?
The most unfurnished with the means of life,
And they, that never pass their brick-wall bounds
To range the fields and treat their lungs with air,
Yet feel the burning inftinct: over-head
Sufpend their crazy boxes, planted thick,
And watered duly. There the pitcher stands
A fragment, and the spoutlefs tea-pot there;
Sad witneffes how close-pent man regrets
The country, with what ardour he contrives
A peep at nature, when he can no more.
Hail, therefore, patronefs of health and cafe,
And contemplation, heart confoling joys
And harmless pleasures, in the thronged abode
Of multitudes unknown; hail, rural life!
Address himself who will to the pursuit
Of honours, or emolument, or fame;
I fhall not add myself to fuch a chase,
Thwart his attempts, or envy his fuccess. Some muft be great. Great offices will have And God gives to every man
The virtue, temper, understanding, tafte,
That lifts him into life, and lets him fall
Juft in the niche, he was ordained to fill.
To the deliverer of an injured land
He gives a tongue to enlarge upon, an heart
To feel, and courage to redress her wrongs;
To monarchs dignity; to judges fense;
To artifts ingenuity and skill;
To me an unambitious mind, content
In the low vale of life, that early felt
A wifh for ease and leisure, and ere long
Found here that leisure and that ease I wished.
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