Marching and counter-marching, with an eye And furrow'd into storms, and with a hand In balance on his conduct of a pin?— To trivial toys, and, pushing iv'ry balls Akin to rapture when the bawble finds Its destin'd goal, of difficult access.- And sooth'd into a dream that he discerns The diff'rence of a Guido from a daub, Frequents the crowded auction: station'd there As duly as the Langford of the show, With glass at eye, and catalogue in hand, Here, unmolested, through whatever sign The sun proceeds, I wander. Neither mist, Nor freezing sky nor sultry, checking me, Nor stranger intermeddling with my joy. Ev'n in the spring and play-time of the year, That calls th' unwonted villager abroad With all her little ones, a sportive train, To gather king-cups in the yellow mead, And prink their hair with daisies, or to pick A cheap but wholesome sallad from the brook, These shades are all my own. The tim'rous hare, Grown so familiar with her frequent guest, Scarce shuns me; and the stock-dove, unalarm'd, Sits cooing in the pine-tree, nor suspends His long love-ditty for my near approach. Drawn from his refuge in some lonely elm Where, on his bed of wool and matted leaves, Ascends the neighb'ring beach; there whisks his brush, And perks his ears, and stamps and cries aloud, The heart is hard in nature, and unfit To love and friendship both, that is not pleas'd With sight of animals enjoying life, Nor feels their happiness augment his own. The bounding fawn, that darts across the glade When none pursues, through mere delight of heart, And spirits buoyant with excess of glee; The horse as wanton, and almost as fleet, That skims the spacious meadow at full speed, Then stops and snorts, and, throwing high his heels, Starts to the voluntary race again; The very kine that gambol at high noon, The total herd receiving first from one That leads the dance a summons to be gay, Though wild their strange vagaries, and uncouth Their efforts, yet resolv'd with one consent These, and a thousand images of bliss, Where cruel man defeats not her design, Impart to the benevolent, who wish Man scarce had ris'n, obedient to his call Who form'd him from the dust, his future grave, When he was crown'd as never king was since. God set the diadem upon his head, And angel choirs attended. Wond'ring stood The new-made monarch, while before him All happy, and all perfect in their kind, pass'd, The creatures summon'd from their various haunts To see their sov'reign, and confess his sway. Vast was his empire, absolute his pow'r, Or bounded only by a law, whose force 'Twas his sublimest privilege to feel And own-the law of universal love. He rul'd with meekness, they obey'd with joy; No cruel purpose lurk'd within his heart, |