With foliage of fuch dark redundant growth,
I call'd the low-roof'd lodge the peafant's neft.
And, hidden as it is, and far remote
From fuch unpleafing founds as haunt the ear
In village or in town, the bay of curs
Inceffant, clinking hammers, grinding wheels,
And infants clam'rous whether pleas'd or pain'd,
Oft have I wish'd the peaceful covert mine.
Here, I have faid, at least I fhould poffefs
The poet's treasure, filence, and indulge
The dreams of fancy, tranquil and secure.
Vain thought! the dweller in that still retreat
Dearly obtains the refuge it affords.
Its elevated fcite forbids the wretch
To drink fweet waters of the crystal well;
He dips his bowl into the weedy ditch,
And, heavy-laden, brings his bev'rage home,
Far fetch'd 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 last cruft confum'd.
So farewell envy of the peafant's neft!
If folitude make fcant the means of life,
Society for me!-thou seeming fweet,
Be still 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 taste, Now fcorn'd, 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 bow'rs, enjoy'd at noon The gloom and coolness of declining day. We bear our fhades about us; felf-depriv'd Of other screen, the thin umbrella fpread, And range an Indian wafte without a tree.
Thanks to Benevolus-he fpares me yet
John Courtney Throckmorton, Efq. of Wefton Underwood.
These chefnuts rang'd in correfponding lines; And, though himself fo polish'd, ftill reprieves The obfolete prolixity of fhade.
Defcending now (but cautious, left too fast)
A fudden fteep, upon a ruftic bridge
We pafs a gulph, in which the willows dip
Their pendent boughs, ftooping as if to drink.
Hence, ancle-deep in moss and flow'ry thyme,
We mount again, and feel at ev'ry step
Our foot half funk in hillocks green and foft,
Rais'd 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,
may record the mischiefs he has done.
The fummit gain'd, behold the proud alcove That crowns it! yet not all its pride secures The grand retreat from injuries imprefs'd
By rural carvers, who with knives deface
The pannels, leaving an obfcure, rude name,
In characters uncouth, and spelt amiss.
So ftrong the zeal t' immortalize himself
Beats in the breast of man, that ev'n a few
Few tranfient years, won from th' abyss abhorr'd
Of blank oblivion, seem a glorious prize,
And even to a clown. Now roves the eye;
And, pofted on this speculative height,
Exults in its command. The fheep-fold here
Pours out its fleecy tenants o'er the glebe.
At first, progreffive as a stream, they seek
The middle field; but, fcatter'd by degrees,
Each to his choice, foon whiten all the land.
There, from the fun-burnt hay-field, homeward creeps
The loaded wain; while, lighten'd of its charge,
The wain that meets it paffes fwiftly by;
The boorish driver leaning o'er his team
Vocif'rous, and impatient of delay.
Nor lefs attractive is the woodland scene,
Diversified with trees of ev'ry growth,
Alike, yet various. Here the gray smooth trunks
Of ash, or lime, or beech, diftinctly shine,
Within the twilight of their distant shades;
There, loft behind a rifing ground, the wood
Seems funk, and shorten'd to its topmost boughs.
No tree in all the grove but has its charms,
Though each its hue peculiar; paler fome,
And of a wannish gray; the willow fuch,
And poplar, that with filver lines his leaf,
And ash far-ftretching his umbrageous arm;
Of deeper green the elm; and deeper ftill,
Lord of the woods, the long-furviving oak.
Some gloffy-leav'd, and fhining in the fun,
The maple, and the beech of oily nuts
Prolific, and the lime at dewy eve
Diffufing odours: nor unnoted pass
The fycamore, capricious in attire,
Now green, now tawny, and, ere autumn yet
Have chang'd the woods, in scarlet honours bright.
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