Some mingling ftir the melted Tar, and Some,
Deep on the new-fhorn Vagrant's heaving Side,
To stamp his Master's Cipher ready stand
Others th' unwilling Wether drag along,
And, glorying in his Might, the
Holds by the twisted Horns th' indignant Ram.
Behold where bound, and of its Robe bereft,
By needy Man, that all-depending Lord,
How meek, how patient, the mild Creature lies!
What Softness in its melancholy Face,
What dumb complaining Innocence appears!
Fear not, ye gentle Tribes, 'tis not the Knife
Of horrid Slaughter that is o'er you wav'd;
No, 'tis the tender Swain's well-guided Shears,
Who having now, to pay his annual Care,
Borrow'd your Fleece, to you a cumbrous Lord,
Will fend you bounding to your Hills again.
A fimple Scene! yet hence BRITANNIA fees Her folid Grandeur rife: hence the commands Th' exalted Stores of every brighter Clime, The Treasures of the Sun without his Rage: Hence, fervent all, with Culture, Toil, and Arts, Wide glows her Land: her dreadful Thunder hence 425 Rides o'er the Waves fublime, and now, even now, Impending hangs o'er Gallia's humbled Coast, Hence rules the circling Deep, and awes the World.
'Tis raging Noon; and, vertical, the Sun
Darts on the Head direct his forceful Rays.
O'er Heaven and Earth, far as the ranging Eye
Can sweep, a dazling Deluge reigns; and all
From Pole to Pole is undistinguish'd Blaze.
In vain the Sight, dejected to the Ground,
Stoops for Relief; thence hot afcending Steams
And keen Reflection pain. Deep to the Root
Of Vegetation parch'd, the cleaving Fields
And flippery Lawn an arid Hue disclose,
Blaft Fancy's Blooms, and wither even the Soul.
Echo no more returns the chearful Sound
Of sharpening Scythe: the Mower finking heaps
O'er him the humid Hay, with Flowers perfum'd;
And scarce a chirping Grass-hopper is heard
Thro the dumb Mead. Diftrefsful Nature pants.
The very Streams look languid from afar ;
Or, thro th' unshelter'd Glade, impatient, feem
To hurl into the Covert of the Grove.
ALL-CONQUERING Heat, oh intermit thy Wrath!
And on my throbbing Temples potent thus
Beam not fo fierce! Inceffant ftill you flow,
And ftill another fervent Flood fucceeds,
Pour'd on the Head profuse. In vain I figh,
And restless turn, and look around for Night ;
Night is far off; and hotter Hours approach.
Thrice happy he! who on the funless fide
Of a romantic Mountain, forest-crown'd,
Beneath the whole collected Shade reclines:
Or in the gelid Caverns, woodbine-wrought,
And fresh bedew'd with ever-fpouting Streams,
Sits coolly calm; while all the World without,
Unfatisfy'd, and fick, toffes in Noon.
Emblem inftructive of the virtuous Man,
Who keeps his temper'd Mind ferene, and pure,
And every Paffion aptly harmoniz'd,
Amid a jarring World with Vice inflam'd.
WELCOME, ye Shades! ye bowery Thickets, hail!
Ye lofty Pines! ye venerable Oaks!
Ye Ashes wild, refounding o'er the Steep!
Delicious is your Shelter to the Soul,
As to the hunted Hart the fallying Spring,
Or Stream full-flowing, that his fwelling Sides
Laves, as he floats along the herbag'd Brink.
Cool, thro' the Nerves, your pleafing Comfort glides;
The Heart beats glad; the fresh-expanded Eye
And Ear refume their watch; the Sinews knit;
And Life fhoots swift thro all the lighten'd Limbs.
AROUND th' adjoining Brook, that purls along
The vocal Grove, now fretting o'er a Rock,
Now fcarcely moving thro a reedy Pool,
Now Aarting to a fudden Stream, and now
Gently diffus'd into a limpid Plain ;
A various Groupe the Herds and Flocks compofe,
Rural Confufion! On the graffy Bank
Some ruminating lie; while others stand
Half in the Flood, and often bending fip
The circling Surface. In the Middle droops
The ftrong laborious Ox, of honest Front,
Which incompos'd he shakes; and from his Sides
The troublous Infects lafhes with his Tail,
Returning ftill. Amid his Subjects fafe,
Slumbers the Monarch-Swain; his carelefs Arm
Thrown round his Head, on downy Mois fuftain'd;
Here laid his Scrip, with wholefome Viands fill'd:
There, liftening every Noise, his watchful Dog.
LIGHT fly his Slumbers, if perchance a Flight Of angry Gad-Flies faften on the Herd; That startling scatters from the fhallow Brook, In fearch of lavish Stream. Toffing the Foam, They fcorn the Keeper's Voice, and fcowr the Plain, Thro all the bright Severity of Noon;
500 While, from their labouring Breafts, a hollow Moan Proceeding, runs low-bellowing round the Hills.
OFT in this Seafon too the Horfe, provok'd,
While his big Sinews full of Spirits fwell,
Trembling with Vigour, in the Heat of Blood,
Springs the high Fence; and, o'er the Field effus'd,
Darts on the gloomy Flood, with stedfast Eye,
And Heart eftrang'd to Fear: his nervous Cheft,
Luxuriant, and erect, the Seat of Strength!
Bears down th' oppofing Stream: quenchlefs his Thirft;
He takes the River at redoubled Draughts;
And with wide Noftrils, fnorting, skims the Wave.
STILL let me pierce into the midnight Depth
Of yonder Grove, of wildest largest Growth:
That, forming high in Air a woodland Quire,
Nods o'er the Mount beneath. At every Step,
Solemn, and flow, the Shadows blacker fall,
And all is awful liftening Gloom around.
THESE are the Haunts of Meditation, These The Seenes where antient Bards th' infpiring Breath, 520 Extatic, felt; and, from this World retir'd, Convers'd with Angels, and immortal Forms, On gracious Errands bent: to fave the Fall Of Virtue ftruggling on the Brink of Vice; In waking Whispers, and repeated Dreams, To hint pure Thought, and warn the favour'd Soul For future Trials fated to prepare ;
To prompt the Poet, who devoted gives
His Mufe to better Themes; to footh the Pangs
Of dying Worth, and from the Patriot's Breaît,
(Backward to mingle in detefted War,
But foremoft when engag'd) to turn the Death;
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