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The growing seeds of wisdom; that suggest, By every pleasing image they present, Reflections such as meliorate the heart, Compose the passions, and exalt the mind; Scenes such as these 'tis his supreme delight To fill with riot and defile with blood. Should some contagion, kind to the poor brutes We persecute, annihilate the tribes, That draw the sportsman over hill and dale Fearless, and rapt away from all his cares; Should never game-fowl hatch her eggs again, Nor baited hook deceive the fish's eye; : Could pageantry and dance, and feast and song, Be quelled in all our summer-months' retreats; How many self-deluded nymphs and swains, Who dream they have a taste for fields and groves, Would find them hideous nurseries of the spleen, And crowd the roads, impatient for the town! They love the country, and none else, who seek For their own sake its silence, and its shade. Delights which who would leave, that has a heart Susceptible of pity, or a mind Cultured and capable of sober thought, For all the savage din of the swift pack, And clamours of the field ?-detested sport, That owes its pleasures to another's pain; That feeds upon the sobs and dying shrieks Of harmless nature, dumb, but yet endued With eloquence, that agonies inspire, Of silent tears and heart-distending sighs ? Vain tears, alas, and sighs that never find VOL. II.
A corresponding tone in jovial souls !
Well-ope at least is safe. One sheltered hare
Has never heard the sanguinary yell
Of cruel man, exulting in her woes. i
Innocent partner of my peaceful home,
Whom ten long years' experience of my care
Has made at last familiar; she has lost
Much of her vigilant instinctive dread,
Not needful here, beneath a roof like mine.
Yes—thou mayest eat thy bread, and lick the hand
That feeds thee; thou mayest frolic on the floor
At evening, and at night retire secure
To thy straw couch, and slumber unalarmed;
For I have gained thy confidence, have pledged
All that is human in me, to protect
Thine unsuspecting gratitude and love..
If I survive thee, I will dig thy grave;
And, when I place thee in it, sighing say,
I knew at least one hare that had a friend.
How various his employments, whom the world
Calls idle ; and who justly in return
Esteems that busy world an idler too!
Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen
Delightful industry enjoyed at home,
And nature in her cultivated trim
Dressed to his taste, inviting him abroad. -
Can he want occupation, who has these ?
Will he be idle, who has much t'enjoy ?
Me therefore studious of laborious ease,
Not slothful, happy to deceive the time,
Not waste 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 blessings, business finds
E'en here: while sedulous I seek t' improve,
At least neglect not, or leave unemployed,
The mind he gave me ; driving it, though slack
Too oft, and much impeded in its work
By causes not to be divulged in vain,
To its just 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 seeks
A social, not a dissipated life,
Has business ; feels himself engaged t’ achieve
No unimportant. though a silent, task.
A life all turbulence and noise may seem
To him that leads it wise, and to be praised;
But wisdom is a pearl with most success
Sought in still water, and beneath clear skies.
He that is ever occupied in storms,
Or dives not for it, or brings up instead,
Vainly industrious, a disgraceful prize.
The morning finds the self-sequestered man
Fresh for his task, intend what task he may.
Whether inclement seasons recommend
His warm but simple home, where he enjoys
With her, who shares his pleasures and his heart,
Sweet converse, sipping calm the fragrant lymph,
Which neatly she prepares; then to his book
Well chosen, and not sullenly perused
In selfish silence, but imparted oft,
As aught occurs, that she may smile 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, conscious how much the hand
Of lubbard labour needs his watchful eye,
Oft loitering lazily, if not o'erseen,
Or misapplying his unskilful strength.
Nor does he govern only or direct,
But much performs himself. No works indeed,
That ask robust, tough sinews, bred to toil,
Servile employ: but such as may amuse,
Not tire, demanding rather skill than force.
Proud of his well-spread walls, he views his trees
That meet, no barren interval between,
With pleasure more than e'en their fruits afford;
Which, save himself who trains them, none can feel.
These therefore are his own peculiar charge ;
No meaner hand may discipline the shoots,
None but his steel approach them. What is weak,
Distempered or has lost prolific powers,
Impaired by age, his unrelenting hand .
Dooms to the knife: nor does he spare the soft
And succulent, that feeds its giant growth, .
But barren, at th’expense of neighbouring twigs
Less ostentatious, and yet studded thick
With hopeful gems. The rest, no portion left
That may disgrace his art, or disappoint
Large expectation, he disposes neat
At measured distances, that air and sun,
Admitted freely, may afford their aid, And ventilate and warm the swelling buds. Hence summer has her riches, Autumn hence, And hence e'en Winter fills his withered hand With blushing fruits, and plenty not his own.* Fair recompense of labour well bestowed, And wise precaution; which a clime so rude Makes needful still, whose Spring is but the child Of churlish Winter, in her froward moods Discovering much the temper of her sire. For oft, as if in her the stream 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, screening and keeping warm The plenteous bloom, that no rough blast may sweep His garlands from the boughs. Again, as oft As the sun peeps and vernal airs breathe mild, The fence withdrawn, he gives them every beam, And spreads his hopes before the blaze of day.
To raise the prickly and green-coated gourd, So grateful to the palate, and when rare So coveted, else base and disesteemedFood for the vulgar merely-is an art That toiling ages have but just matured, I And at this moment unassayed in song. Yet gnats have had, and frogs and mice, long since Their eulogy; those sang the Mantuan bard,
** Miraturque novos fructus et non sua poma.' Virg.