And crowd the roads, impatient for the town!
They love the country, and none else, who feek
For their own fake its filence and its fhade.
Delights which who would leave, that has a heart
Sufceptible of pity, or a mind
Cultured and capable of fober thought,
For all the favage din of the fwift pack,
And clamours of the field?-Detefted fport,
That owes its pleasures to another's pain;
That feeds upon the fobs and dying shrieks
Of harmless nature, dumb, but yet endued
With eloquence, that agonies infpire,
Of filent tears and heart-diftending fighs?
Vain tears, alas, and fighs, that never find
A correfponding tone in jovial fouls!
Well-one at leaft is fafe. One fheltered hare
Has never heard the fanguinary yell
Of cruel man, exulting in her woes.
Innocent partner of my peaceful home,
Whom ten long years' experience of my care
Has made at last familiar; fhe has loft
Much of her vigilant inftinctive dread,
Not needful here, beneath a roof like mine.
Yes-thou mayeft eat thy bread, and lick the hand
That feeds thee; thou mayeft frolic on the floor
At evening, and at night retire secure
To thy ftraw couch, and slumber unalarmed;
For I have gained thy confidence, have pledged
All that is human in me to protect
Thine unfuspecting gratitude and love.
If I furvive thee I will dig thy grave;
And, when I place thee in it, fighing say,
I knew at least one hare that had a friend. *
How various his employments, whom the world Calls idle; and who juftly in return
Efteems that bufy world an idler too.
Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen,
Delightful industry enjoyed at home,
And nature in her cultivated trim
Dreffed to his tafte, inviting him abroad-
Can he want occupation who has these?
Will he be idle who has much to enjoy?
Me therefore ftudious of laborious ease,
Not flothful, happy to deceive the time,
Not wafte it, and aware that human life
Is but a loan to be repaid with use,
When He shall call his debtors to account,
From whom are all our bleffings; bufinefs finds
E'en here: while fedulous I feek to improve,
At leaft neglect not, or leave unemployed,
The mind he gave me; driving it, though flack
See the note at the end of this volume.
Too oft, and much impeded in its work
By causes not to be divulged in vain,
To its juft point-the service of mankind.
He, that attends to his interior self,
That has a heart, and keeps it; has a mind
That hungers, and supplies it; and who feeks
A focial, not a diffipated life,
Has bufinefs; feels himself engaged to achieve
No unimportant, though a filent, task.
A life all turbulence and noife may seem
To him that leads it wife, and to be praised;
But wisdom is a pearl with most fuccefs
Sought in ftill water, and beneath clear skies.
He that is ever occupied in ftorms,
Or dives not for it, or brings up instead,
Vainly induftrious, a disgraceful prize.
The morning finds the self-fequestered man Fresh for his task, intend what task he may. Whether inclement seasons recommend His warm but fimple home, where he enjoys With her, who shares his pleasures and his heart, Sweet converse, fipping calm the fragrant lymph, Which neatly fhe prepares; then to his book Well chofen, and not fullenly perused In selfish filence, but imparted oft,
As aught occurs, that she may fmile to hear,
Or turn to nourishment, digested well.
Or if the garden with its many cares,
All well repaid, demand him, he attends
The welcome call, confcious how much the hand
Of lubbard labour needs his watchful eye,
Oft loitering lazily, if not o'erfeen,
Or mifapplying his unfkilful ftrength.
Nor does he govern only or direct,
But much performs himself. No works indeed,
That ask robuft tough finews, bred to toil,
Servile employ; but fuch as may amuse,
Not tire, demanding rather skill than force.
Proud of his well-fpread walls, he views his trees
That meet (no barren interval between)
With pleasure more than e'en their fruits afford,
Which, fave himself who trains them, none can feel;
These therefore are his own peculiar charge;
No meaner hand may discipline the shoots,
None but his fteel approach them. What is weak,
Diftempered, or has loft prolific powers,
Impaired by age, his unrelenting hand
Dooms to the knife: nor does he fpare the foft
And fucculent, that feeds its giant growth,
But barren, at the expence of neighbouring twigs
Lefs oftentatious, and yet ftudded thick
With hopeful gems. The reft, no portion left That may difgrace his art, or disappoint Large expectation, he disposes neat At measured distances, that air and fun, Admitted freely may afford their aid, And ventilate and warm the fwelling buds. Hence fummer has her riches, autumn hence, And hence e'en winter fills his withered hand With blushing fruits, and plenty not his own*. Fair recompenfe of labour well beftowed, And wife precaution; which a clime so rude Makes needful ftill, whofe fpring is but the child Of churlish winter, in her froward moods Discovering much the temper of her fire. For oft, as if in her the ftream of mild Maternal nature had reversed its course, She brings her infants forth with many smiles; But once delivered kills them with a frown. He therefore timely warned himself supplies Her want of care, fcreening and keeping warm The plenteous bloom, that no rough blaft may sweep His garlands from the boughs. Again, as oft As the fun peeps and vernal airs breathe mild,
* Miraturque novos fructus et non fua poma. Virg.
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