Dearly obtains the refuge it affords.
Its elevated fcite forbids the wretch
To drink sweet waters of the cryftal well;
He dips his bowl into the weedy ditch,
And, heavy-laden, brings his beverage home,
Far fetched and little worth; nor feldom waits,
Dependant on the baker's punctual call,
To hear his creaking panniers at the door,
Angry and fad, and his laft cruft confumed.
So farewell envy of the peasant's nest!
If folitude make scant the means of life,
Society for me!-thou seeming sweet,
Be ftill a pleafing object in my view;
My vifit ftill, but never mine abode.
Not diftant far, a length of colonnade
Invites us. Monument of ancient tafte,
Now fcorned, but worthy of a better fate.
Our fathers knew the value of a screen
From fultry funs: and, in their shaded walks
And long protracted bowers, enjoyed at noon
The gloom and coolness of declining day.
We bear our shades about us; felf-deprived
Of other screen, the thin umbrella spread,
And range an Indian wafte without a tree.
Thanks to Benevolus-he fpares me yet
These chefnuts ranged in correfponding lines;
And, though himself fo polished, ftill reprieves
The obfolete prolixity of fhade.
Descending now (but cautious, left too fast)
A fudden fteep upon a ruftic bridge
We país a gulph, in which the willows dip
Their pendent boughs, ftooping as if to drink.
Hence, ancle deep in mofs and flowery thyme,
We mount again, and feel at every step
Our foot half funk in hillocks green and foft,
Raifed by the mole, the miner of the foil.
He, not unlike the great ones of mankind,
Disfigures earth: and, plotting in the dark,
Toils much to earn a monumental pile,
That may record the mischiefs he has done.
The fummit gained, behold the proud alcove
That crowns it! yet not all its pride fecures
The grand retreat from injuries impreffed
By rural carvers, who with knives deface
The pannels, leaving an obfcure, rude name
John Courtney Throckmorton, Efq of Wefton Underwood.
In characters uncouth, and spelt amifs.
So ftrong the zeal to immortalize himself
Beats in the breast of man, that even a few
Few tranfient years, won from the abyss abhorred
Of blank oblivion, feem a glorious prize,
And even to a clown. Now roves the eye;
And, pofted on this speculative height,
Exults in its command. The sheep-fold here
Pours out its fleecy tenants over the glebe.
At first, progreffive as a stream, they seek
The middle field; but, fcattered by degrees,
Each to his choice, foon whiten all the land.
There from the fun-burnt hay-field homeward creeps
The loaded wain; while, lightened of its charge,
The wain that meets it paffes fwiftly by ;
The boorish driver leaning over his team
Vociferous, and impatient of delay.
Nor lefs attractive is the woodland scene,
Diverfified with trees of every growth,
Alike, yet various. Here the gray smooth trunks
Of afh, or lime, or beech, distinctly shine,
Within the twilight of their distant shades;
There, loft behind a rifing ground, the wood
Seems funk, and shortened to its topmoft boughs.
No tree in all the grove but has its charms,
Though each its hue peculiar; paler fome,
And of a wannifh gray; the willow fuch,
And poplar, that with filver lines his leaf,
And afh far-ftretching his umbrageous arm;
Of deeper green the elm; and deeper ftill,
Lord of the woods, the long-furviving oak.
Some gloffy-leaved, and shining in the fun,
The maple, and the beech of oily nuts
Prolific, and the lime at dewy eve
Diffufing odours: nor unnoted pafs
The fycamore, capricious in attire,
Now green, now tawny, and, ere autumn yet
Have changed the woods, in fcarlet honours bright
Over thefe, but far beyond (a fpacious map
Of hill and valley interpofed between),
The Oufe, dividing the well-watered land,
Now glitters in the fun, and now retires,
As bafhful, yet impatient to be seen.
Hence the declivity is sharp and short,
And fuch the re-afcent; between them weeps
A little naiad her impoverished urn
All fummer long, which winter fills again.
The folded gates would bar my progrefs now,
But that the lord of this enclosed demefne,
Communicative of the good he owns,
Admits me to a fhare; the guiltless eye
Commits no wrong, nor waftes what it enjoys.
Refreshing change! where now the blazing fun?
By short tranfition we have loft his glare,
And stepped at once into a cooler clime.
Ye fallen avenues! once more I mourn
Your fate unmerited, once more rejoice
That yet a remnant of your race furvives.
How airy and how light the graceful arch,
Yet awful as the confecrated roof
Re-echoing pious anthems! while beneath
The checquered earth feems reftlefs as a flood
Brushed by the wind. So fportive is the light
Shot through the boughs, it dances as they dance,
Shadow and funshine intermingling quick,
And darkening and enlightening, as the leaves
Play wanton, every moment, every spot.
And now, with nerves new-braced and spirits cheered,
We tread the wilderness, whose well rolled walks,
With curvature of flow and easy sweep-
Deception innocent-give ample space
To narrow bounds. The grove receives us next;
Between the upright fhafts of whofe tall elms
We may difcern the thresher at his task.
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