And throws Italian light on English walls:
But imitative ftrokes can do no more

Than please the eye-sweet Nature ev'ry sense.
The air falubrious of her lofty hills,

The cheering fragrance of her dewy vales,
And mufic of her woods-no works of man
May rival thefe; thefe all befpeak a pow'r
Peculiar, and exclufively her own.
Beneath the open sky she spreads the feast;
'Tis free to all-'tis ev'ry day renew'd;
Who fcorns it ftarves defervedly at home.
He does not fcorn it, who, imprifon'd long
In fome unwholesome dungeon, and a prey
To fallow fickness, which the vapours, dank
And clammy, of his dark abode have bred,
Escapes at laft to liberty and light:

His cheek recovers foon its healthful hue;
His eye relumines its extinguifh'd fires;

He walks, he leaps, he runs-is wing'd with joy,
And riots in the fweets of ev'ry breeze.
He does not scorn it, who has long endur'd

A fever's agonies, and fed on drugs.
Nor yet the mariner, his blood inflam'd

With acrid falts; his very heart athirst

To gaze at Nature in her green array,
Upon the ship's tall fide he stands, poffefs'd
With vifions prompted by intense defire:
Fair fields appear below, fuch as he left
Far diftant, fuch as he would die to find-
He feeks them headlong, and is feen no more.

The fpleen is feldom felt where Flora reigns;
The low'ring eye, the petulance, the frown,
And fullen fadnefs, that o'erfhade, distort,
And mar the face of beauty, when no cause
For fuch immeafurable woe appears,

These Flora banishes, and gives the fair
Sweet fmiles, and bloom lefs tranfient than her own.
It is the conftant revolution, ftale

And taftelefs, of the fame repeated joys,

That palls and fatiates, and makes languid life
A pedlar's pack, that bows the bearer down.
Health fuffers, and the fpirits ebb; the heart
Recoils from its own choice-at the full feaft
Is famifh'd-finds no mufic in the fong,
No smartness in the jeft; and wonders why.
Yet thousands ftill defire to journey on,

Though halt, and weary of the path they tread.

The paralytic, who can hold her cards,

But cannot play them, borrows a friend's hand
To deal and shuffle, to divide and fort,
Her mingled fuits and fequences; and fits,
Spectatress both and spectacle, a fad
And filent cypher, while her proxy plays.
Others are dragg'd into the crowded room
Between fupporters; and, once feated, fit,
Through downright inability to rife,

Till the ftout bearers lift the corpse again.
These speak a loud memento. Yet ev'n these
Themselves love life, and cling to it, as he
That overhangs a torrent to a twig.

They love it, and yet loath it; fear to die,
Yet fcorn the purposes for which they live.
Then wherefore not renounce them? No-the dread,
The flavish dread of solitude, that breeds
Reflection and remorse, the fear of thame,
And their invet'rate habits, all forbid.

Whom call we gay? That honour has been long The boaft of mere pretenders to the name. The innocent are gay-the lark is gay,

That dries his feathers, faturate with dew,

Beneath the rofy cloud, while yet the beams
Of day-spring overshoot his humble nest.
The peafant too, a witnefs of his fong,
Himself a fongfter, is as gay as he.

But fave me from the gaiety of those

Whofe head-aches nail them to a noon-day bed;
And fave me too from their's whofe haggard eyes
Flash desperation, and betray their pangs
For property ftripp'd off by cruel chance ;-
From gaiety that fills the bones with pain,
The mouth with blafphemy, the heart with woe.

The earth was made fo various, that the mind Of defultory man, ftudious of change, And pleas'd with novelty, might be indulg'd. Profpects, however lovely, may be seen

Till half their beauties fade; the weary fight,
Too well acquainted with their smiles, flides off,
Faftidious, feeking lefs familiar fcenes.

Then fnug enclosures in the shelter'd vale,
Where frequent hedges intercept the eye,
Delight us; happy to renounce awhile,

Not senseless of its charms, what fill we love,
That fuch short abfence may endear it more.

Then forefts, or the favage rock, may please,
That hides the fea-mew in his hollow clefts
Above the reach of man. His hoary head,
Confpicuous many a league, the mariner,
Bound homeward, and in hope already there,
Greets with three cheers exulting. At his waift
A girdle of half-wither'd fhrubs he shows,
And at his feet the baffled billows die.

The common, overgrown with fern, and rough
With prickly gorfe, that, fhapelefs and deform'd,
And dang'rous to the touch, has yet its bloom,
And decks itself with ornaments of gold,
Yields no unpleafing ramble; there the turr
Smells fresh, and, rich in odorif'rous herbs
And fungous fruits of earth, regales the fenfe
With luxury of unexpected fweets.

There often wanders one, whom better days Saw better clad, in cloak of fatin trimm'd With lace, and hat with splendid ribband bound. A ferving maid was the, and fell in love With one who left her, went to fea, and died. Her fancy follow'd him through foaming waves To diftant fhores; and the would fit and weep