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For when thy folding-star arising shows
The fragrant Hours, and Elves
And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge,
The pensive Pleasures sweet
Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene,
Whose walls more awful nod
Or if chill blust'ring winds, or driving rain,
That, from the mountain's side,
And hamlets brown, and dim-discovered spires,
Thy dewy fingers draw
ODES AND SONNETS.
While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont,
While Summer loves to sport
While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves,
Affrights thy shrinking train,
So long, regardful of thy quiet rule,
Thy gentlest influence own,
ODE ON SOLITUDE.
IIappy the man whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air,
In his own ground.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply him with attire, Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.
Blest, who can unconcern’dly find
Hours, days, and years slide soft away, In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day,
Sound sleep by night; study and ease,
Together mix’d; sweet recreation ; And innocence, which most does please
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown,
Thus 'unlamented let me die,
How darkly o'er yon far-off mountain frowns
The gathered tempest! from that lurid cloud
The deep-voiced thunders roll, awful and loud, Though distant; while upon the misty downs
Fast falls in shadowy streaks the pelting rain.
I never saw so terrible a storm!
Wraps his torn raiment round his shivering form,
Cheerily round me. Ah, that thus my lot
Where I might, from some little quiet cot,
STATELY yon vessel sails adown the tide
To some far-distant land adventurous bound,
Pealing among the echoing rocks resound ;
Joyful they enter on their ocean way,
And know no care beyond the present day.
Who sorrows for a child or husband there?