Afford them shelter from the wintry winds;w adqual
Or, as the sharp year pinches, with their own code
Again regale them on some smiling day? doing alt 78
See where the stony bottom of their town bw-osal
Looks desolate and wild; with here and there ll
A helpless number, who the ruin'd state rozd
Survive, lamenting weak, cast out to deaths to
Thus a proud city, populous and richyers 26 ICA
Full of the works of peace, and high im joy, cobro sill
At theatre or feast, or sunk in sleep end of
(As late, Palermo, was thy fate), is seized test udo
By some dread earthquake, and convulsive hurl'd
Sheer from the black foundation, stench-involved,
Into a gulf of blue sulphureous flame.

Hence every harsher sight! for now the day,
O'er heaven and earth diffused, grows warm and high,
Infinite splendour! wide investing all.

How still the breeze! save what the filmy threads
Of dew evaporate brushes from the plain.
How clear the cloudless sky! how deeply tinged
With a peculiar blue! the' etherial arch
How swell'd immense! amid whose azure throned,
The radiant sun how gay! how calm below
The gilded earth! the harvest treasures all oh";
Now gather'd in, beyond the rage of storms, rod tsp?/
Sure to the swain; the circling fence shut up; cm! vol
And instant Winter's utmost rage defied.

While, loose to festive joy, the country round

Laughs with the loud sincerity of mirth, nodt broftA
Shook to the wind their cares. The toil-strung youth,
By the quick sense of music taught alone, por ng A
Leaps wildly graceful in the lively dance. rdwa
Her every charm abroad, the village toast,ech-doo I
Young, buxom, warm, in native beauty rich,

Darts not unmeaning looks; and, where her eye
Points an approving smile, with double force
The cudgel rattles, and the wrestler twines.
Age too shines out; and, garrulous, recounts
The feats of youth. Thus they rejoice; nor think
That, with to-morrow's sun, their annual toil
Begins again the never ceasing round.

T

Oh, knew he but his happiness, of men The happiest he who far from public rage, Deep in the vale, with a choice few retired, Drinks the pure pleasures of the Rural Life. What though the dome be wanting, whose proud gate, Each morning, vomits out the sneaking crowd Of flatterers false, and in their turn abused? Vile intercourse! what though the glittering robe Of every hue reflected light can give,

Or floating loose, or stiff with mazy gold,

The pride and gaze of fools! oppress him not?
What though, from utmost land and sea purvey'd,
For him each rarer tributary life

Bleeds not, and his insatiate table heaps

With luxury and death? What though his bowl

Flames not with costly juice; nor sunk in beds
Oft of gay care, he tosses out the night,

Or melts the thoughtless hours in idle state?
What though he knows not those fantastic joys,
That still amuse the wanton, still deceive;
A face of pleasure, but a heart of pain;
Their hollow moments undelighted all?
Sure peace is his; a solid life, estranged
To disappointment and fallacious hope:
Rich in content, in Nature's bounty rich,
In herbs and fruits; whatever greens the Spring, d
When heaven descends in showers; or bends the bough,
When Summer reddens, and when Autumn beams;
Or in the wintry glebe whatever lies

Conceal'd, and fattens with the richest sap:
These are not wanting; nor the milky drove,
Luxuriant, spread o'er all the lowing vale;
Nor bleating mountains; nor the chide of streams,
And hum of bees, inviting sleep sincere

Into the guiltless breast, beneath the shade,
Or thrown at large amid the fragrant hay;
Nor aught besides of prospect, grove, or song,
Dim grottoes, gleaming lakes, and fountain clear.
Here too dwells simple Truth; plain Innocence;
Unsullied Beauty; sound unbroken Youth,
Patient of labour, with a little pleased;
Health ever blooming; unambitious Toil;
Calm Contemplation, and poetic Ease.

Let others brave the flood in quest of gain, i
And beat, for joyless months, the gloomy wave.
Let such as deem it glory to destroyi* ***

Rush into blood, the sack of cities seek;
Unpierced, exulting in the widow's wail,
The virgin's shriek, and infant's trembling cry.
Let some, far distant from their native soil,
Urged or by want or harden'd avarice,
Find other lands beneath another sun.
Let this through cities work his eager way,
By legal outrage and establish'd guile,
The social sense extinct; and that ferment
Mad into tumult the seditious herd,
Or melt them down to slavery. Let these
Insnare the wretched in the toils of law,
Fomenting discord, and perplexing right,
An iron race! and those of fairer front,
But equal inhumanity, in courts,
Delusive pomp and dark cabals, delight;
Wreath the deep bow, diffuse the lying smile,
And tread the weary labyrinth of state.
While he, from all the stormy passions free
That restless men involve, hears, and but hears,
At distance safe, the human tempest roar,

Wrapp'd close in conscious peace. The fall of kings,

The rage of nations, and the crush of states,
Move not the man who, from the world escaped,
In still retreats, and flowery solitudes,

To Nature's voice attends, from month to month,£
And day to day, through the revolving year;
Admiring, sees her in her every shape ;
Feels all her sweet emotions at his heart;
Takes what she liberal gives, nor thinks of more.
He, when young Spring protrudes the bursting gems,
Marks the first bud, and sucks the healthful gale
Into his freshen'd soul; her genial hours

He full enjoys; and not a beauty blows,
And not an opening blossom breathes in vain.
In Summer he, beneath the living shade,
Such as o'er frigid Tempè wont to wave,
Or Hemus cool, reads what the Muse, of these,
Perhaps, has in immortal numbers sung;
Or what she dictates writes: and, oft an eye
Shot round, rejoices in the vigorous year.
When Autumn's yellow lustre gilds the world,
And tempts the sickled swain into the field,
Seized by the general joy, his heart distends
With gentle throes; and, through the tepid gleams
Deep musing, then he best exerts his song.

E'en Winter wild to him is full of bliss.

The mighty tempest, and the hoary waste,

Abrupt, and deep, stretch'd o'er the buried earth,
Awake to solemn thought. At night the skies,
Disclosed, and kindled, by refining frost,

Pour every lustre on the exalted eye.no,

A friend, a book, the stealing hours secure, 1+9

I