And where the land flopes to its wat❜ry bourn, Wide yawns a gulph beside a ragged thorn; Bricks line the fides, but shiver'd long ago, And horrid brambles intertwine below; A hollow fcoop'd, I judge in ancient time For baking earth, or burning rock to lime.
Not yet the hawthorn bore her berries red, With which the fieldfare, wint'iy gueft, is fed; Nor autumn yet had brush'd from ev'ry spray, With her chill hand, the mellow leaves away; But corn was hous'd and beans were in the ftack, Now, therefore, iffued forth the spotted pack. With tails high mounted, ears hung low, and throats With a whole gamut fill'd of heav'nly notes, For which, alas! my deftiny fevere,
Though ears she gave me two, gave me no ear. The fun accomplishing his early march, His lamp now planted on heav'n's topmoft arch, When exercise and air my only aim,
And heedlefs whither, to that field I came, Ere yet with ruthless joy the happy hound
Told hill and dale that Reynard's track was found, Or with the high-rais'd horn's melodious clang All Kilwick and all Dingle-derry* rang.
Sheep grazed the field; fome with soft bofom prefs'd The herb as foft, while nibbling stray'd the reft ; Nor noise was heard but of the hafty brook, Struggling, detain'd in many a petty nook. All feem'd fo peaceful, that from them convey'd To me, their peace by kind contagion spread.
Two woods belonging to John Throckmorton, Esq.
But when the huntfman, with diftended cheek, 'Gan make his inftrument of music speak,
And from within the wood that crafh was heard, Though not a hound from whom it burft appear'd, The sheep recumbent, and the sheep that graz'd, All huddling into phalanx, flood and gaz'd, Admiring, terrified, the novel ftrain,
Then cours'd the field around, and cours'd it round again;
But, recollecting with a sudden thought,
That flight in circles urg'd advanc'd them nought,
They gather'd clofe around the old pit's brink, And thought again--but knew not what to think, The man to folitude accuftom'd long, Perceives in ev'ry thing that lives, a tongue; Not animals alone, but shrubs and trees, Have fpeech for him, and understood with eafe ; After long drought when rains abundant fall, He hears the herbs and flowers rejoicing all ; Knows what the freshness of their hue implies, How glad they catch the largess of the skies ; But, with precifion nicer ftill, the mind He scans of ev'ry loco-motive kind;
Birds of all feather, beafts of ev'ry name,
That ferve mankind, or shun them, wild or tame; The looks and geftures of their griefs and fears
Have, all, articulation in his ears;
He spells them true by intuition's light, And needs no gloffary to fet him right,
This truth premis'd was needful as a text, To win due credence to what follows next. Awhile they mus'd; furveying ev'ry face,' Thou hadft fuppos'd them of fuperior race,
Their periwigs of wool, and fears combin'd,
Stamp'd on each countence such marks of mind That fage they feem'd, as lawyers o'er a doubt, Which, puzzling long, at last they puzzle out; Or academic tutors, teaching youths,
Sure ne'er to want them, mathematic truths; When thus a mutton, statelier than the rest, A ram, the ewes and wethers, sad, address'd. Friends! we have liv'd too long. I never heard Sounds fuch as these, so worthy to be fear'd. Could I believe, that winds for ages pent In earth's dark womb have found at last a vent, And from their prifon-house below arife, With all these hideous howlings to the skies, I could be much compos'd, nor should appear For fuch a cause to feel the slightest fear, Yourselves have seen, what time the thunders roll'd All night, me refting quiet in the fold. Or heard we that tremendous bray alone, I could expound the melancholy tone; Should deem it by our old companion made, The afs; for he, we know, has lately stray'd, And being loft, perhaps, and wand'ring wide, Might be suppos'd to clamour for a guide. But ah! thofe dreadful yells what foul can hear. That owns a carcafe, and not quake for fear? Dæmons produce them doubtlefs, brazen-claw'd, And fang'd with brass the dæmons are abroad; I hold it, therefore, wileft and most fit, That, life to save, we leap into the pit.
Him anfwer'd then his loving mate and true, But more difcreet than he, a Cambrian ewe.
How? leap into the pit our life to fave? To fave our life leap all into the grave ? › For can we find it less ? Contemplate first The depth how awful! falling there, we burst; Or fhould the brambles, interpos'd, our fall In part abate, that happiness were small; For with a race like theirs no chance I fee Of peace or eafe to creatures clad as we. Meantime, noise kills not. Be it Dapple's bray, Or be it not, or be it whofe it may,
And rufh thofe other founds, that feem by tongues Of dæmons utter'd, from whatever lungs, Sounds are but founds, and till the cause appear, We have at least commodious ftanding here? Come, fiend, come fury, giant, monster, blast From earth or hell, we can but plunge at laft. While thus fhe fpake, I fainter heard the peals, For reynard, close attended at his heels
By panting dog, tir'd man, and fpatter'd horfe, Through mere good fortune, took a diff'rent course, The flock grew calm again, and I, the road Following that led me to my own abode, Much wonder'd that the filly sheep had found Such cause of terror in an empty found, So fweet to huntfman, gentle man, and hound.
Beware of defp'rate fteps. The darkest day (Live till to-morrow) will have pafs'd away.
THE MODERN RAKE'S PROGRESS.
HE young Tobias was his father's joy;
He train❜d him, as he thought, to deeds of praise,
He taught him virtue, and he taught him truth,
And fent him early to a public school.
Here as it feem'd (but he had none to blame) Virtue forfook him, and habitual vice
Grew in her ftead. He laugh'd at honefty, Became a fceptic, and could raise a doubt E'en of his father's truth. 'Twas idly done To tell him of another world, for wits Knew better; and the only good on earth Was pleasure; not to follow that was fin. • Sure he that made us, made us to enjoy ; And why, faid he, fhould my fond father prate • Of virtue and religion. They afford
No joys, and would abridge the scanty few
• Of nature. Nature be my deity
Her let me worship, as herself enjoins,
At the full board of plenty.' Thoughtless boy!
So to a libertine he grew a wit,
A man cfhonour, boastful empty names That dignify the villain. Seldom feen, And when at home under a cautious mask Concealing the lewd foul, his father thought He grew in wisdom as he grew in years. He fondly deem'd he could perceive the growth Of goodness and of learning, fhooting up, Like the young offspring of the shelter'd hop,
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