The gloom and coolness of declining day.
We bear our shades about us; felf-depriv'd
Of other screen, the thin umbrella spread,
And range an Indian waste without a tree.
Thanks to * Benevolus-he spares me yet
These chefnuts rang'd in correfponding lines,
And though himself so polish'd, ftill reprieves
The obfolete prolixity of shade.
Defcending now (but cautious, lest too fast)
A sudden steep, upon a rustic bridge
We pafs a gulph, in which the willows dip
Their pendant boughs, stooping as if to drink.
Hence ancle deep in mofs and flow'ry thyme
We mount again, and feel at ev'ry step
Our foot half funk in hillocks green and foft,
Rais'd by the mole, the miner of the foil.
He, not unlike the great ones of mankind,
Disfigures earth, and plotting in the dark,
Toils much to earn a monumental pile,
That may record the mischiefs he has done. The fummit gain'd, behold the proud alcove That crowns it yet not all its pride fecures The grand retreat from injuries imprefs'd
* John Courtney Throckmorton, Esq. of Weston Underwood.
By rural carvers, who with knives defacé
The pannels, leaving an obscure, rude name,
In characters uncouth, and fpelt amiss.
So ftrong the zeal t' immortalize himself
Beats in the breaft of man, that ev'n a few
Few tranfient years won from th' abyss abhorr'd
Of blank oblivion, feem a glorious prize,
And even to a clown. Now roves the
And posted on this fpeculative height
Exults in its command. The fheep-fold here
Pours out its fleecy tenants o'er the glebe.
At first, progreffive as a ftream, they seek
The middle field; but fcatter'd by degrees,
Each to his choice, foon whiten all the land.
There, from the fun-burnt hay-field, homeward
The loaded wain, while lighten'd of its charge,
The wain that meets it paffes fwiftly by,
The boorish driver leaning o'er his team
Vocif'rous, and impatient of delay.
Nor lefs attractive is the woodland scene,
Diverfified with trees of ev'ry growth
Alike yet various. Here the grey smooth trunks
Of ash or lime, or beech, diftin&tly shine,
Within the twilight of their distant shades;
There, loft behind a rifing ground, the wood
Seems funk, and shorten'd to its topmost boughs.
No tree in all the grove but has its charms,
Though each its hue peculiar; paler fome,
And of a wannish grey; the willow fuch
And poplar, that with filver lines his leaf,
And ash far-ftretching his umbrageous arm:
Of deeper green the elm; and deeper still,
Lord of the woods, the long-furviving oak..
Some gloffy-leav'd and shining in the sun,
The maple, and the beech of oily nuts.
Prolific, and the lime at dewy eve
Diffufing odors: nor unnoted pafs
The fycamore, capricious in attire,
Now green, now tawny, and ere autumn yet
Have changed the woods, in fcarlet honors bright.
O'er these, but far beyond, (a spacious map
Of hill and valley interpos'd between)
The Oufe, dividing the well-water'd land,
Now glitters in the fun, and now retires,
As bashful, yet impatient to be seen.
Hence the declivity is sharp and short,
And fuch the re-afcent; between them weeps
A little Naiad her impov'rish'd urn
All fummer long, which winter fills again.
The folded gates would bar my progress now, But that the Lord of this inclosed demesne, Communicative of the good he owns,
Admits me to a share: the guiltless eye
Commits no wrong, nor waftes what it enjoys.
Refreshing change! where now the blazing fun?
By short transition we have loft his glare,
And stepp'd at once into a cooler clime.
Ye fallen avenues! once more I mourn
Your fate unmerited, once more rejoice
That yet a remnant of your race furvives.
How airy and how light the graceful arch,
Yet awful as the confecrated roof
Re-echoing pious anthems! while beneath
The chequer'd earth seems restless as a flood
Brufh'd by the wind. So sportive is the light
Shot through the boughs, it dances as they dance,
Shadow and sunshine intermingling quick,
And darkning and enlightning, as the leaves
Play wanton, ev'ry moment, ev'ry spot.
And now with nerves new-brac'd and spirits
We tread the wilderness, whofe well-roll'd walks
With curvature of flow and easy sweep,
Deception innocent-give ample space
To narrow bounds. The grove receives us next; Between the upright fhaftes of whose tall elms
difcern the thresher at his task.
Thump after thump, refounds the conftant flail,
That feems to fwing uncertain, and yet falls
Full on the destin'd ear. Wide flies the chaff,
The rustling straw fends up a frequent mist
Of atoms fparkling in the noon-day beam.
Come hither, ye that press your beds of down
And fleep not fee him fweating o'er his bread
Before he eats it.-'Tis the primal curse,
But foften'd into mercy; made the pledge
Of chearful days, and nights without a groan.
By ceafelefs action, all that is, fubfifts.
Conftant rotation of th' unwearied wheel
That nature rides upon, maintains her health,
Her beauty, her fertility. She dreads
An inftant's paufe, and lives but while fhe moves.
Its own revolvency upholds the world.
Winds from all quarters agitate the air,
And fit the limpid element for use,
Elfe noxious: oceans, rivers, lakes, and streams
All feel the fresh'ning impulse, and are cleansed
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