How often have I bless'd the coming day,
When toil remitting lent its turn to play,
And all the village train, from labour free,
Let up their sports beneath the spreading tree :
While many a pastime circled in the shade,
The young contending as the old survey'd :
And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground,
And slights of art and feats of strength went round.
And still, as each repeated pleasure tir'd,
Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspir'd;
The dancing pair that simply sought renown,
By holding out to tire each other down;
The swain mistrustless of his smutted face,
While secret laughter titter'd round the place;
The bashful virgin's side-long looks of love,
The matron's glance that would those looks reprove.
These were thy charms,sweet village! sports like these,
With sweet succession, taught ev'n toil to please;
These round thy bow'rs their cheerful influence shed,
These were thy charms-but all these charms are fled.
Sweet smilling village, loveliest of the lawn,
Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn ;