ANGLING.

Beneath yon willows pale, whose foliage dank Gives added freshness to the river's bank, The fisher stands, and marks upon the tide The trembling line along the current glide; With mute attention, and with secret joy, He views the bending rod, and sinking buoy. Which watery guest has braved the sudden fate, Fixed to the barb that lurks beneath the bait? The springing trout, or carp bedecked with gold, Or does the perch his purpled fins unfold? The silvered eel, that winds through many a maze, Or pike voracious, on his kind that preys?

FOWLING DEPRECATED.

The sportsman now the sylvan war prepares,
And takes the deathful tube, that lightning bears;
Glanced from the level of his guiding eye,
Red comes the flash, and thunder follows nigh.
Who first is doomed to feel the leaden death?
The wheeling plover, plaintive o'er the heath,
Or the sweet lark, that, soaring to the skies,
Pierced 'midst his amorous warble, drops and dies?
Thou, Muse, that oft, with Pity's softest song,
Hast sued for mercy to the feathered throng,
Forbear t' ennoble, in thy tuneful lay,
The unmanly contest, and the inglorious fray!
Why call not vengeance on the guilty head

Of yon grim wolf, the country's scourge and dread?
So shall his death a nobler meed bestow,
And flocks and fields shall bless the grateful blow.

DEER-HUNTING; THE CHASE BEGUN.

Hark to the horn! at whose enlivening sound The aspiring courser paws the trembling ground; With neck impatient draws the tightened rein, Champs on the bit, and pants through every vein. Scared by the martial noise, that echoes far, The timid stag foresees the driving war. Long time by vain irresolution pressed, What anxious doubts invade his laboring breast! Whether to trust at once to rapid flight, Or wait with hardy front the coming fight? But fear at length prevails; on wings of wind He leaves the forest and the hunt behind; While now, with rein relaxed, the fiery steed Springs sudden forth, and gives himself to speed : The ardent sportsman, bending o'er his mane, Drives like a tempest o'er the beaten plain, Breaks through the coppice, skims the furrowed ground,

While clouds of dust arise, and blacken round.

THE HUNTED STAG REJECTED BY THE HERD.

Still flies the stag, and still the greedy pack Adhere, sagacious, to the steaming track: Where'er his footsteps mark the sandy ground, There clings the nostril of the instinctive hound. How does he rue the treachery of his feet, That guide the savage to his dark retreat! Beset, abandoned, and with death behind,

At length he calls his kindred herd to mind,
'Mongst whom, of old, in fortune's happier day,
The subject-forest owned his lordly sway.
There, if perchance, as, wandering o'er the grass,
The well-known troop should near their leader pass,
Full in the midst he goes, with humbler face,
To shield his life, or hide his sad disgrace.
Deluding thought! the intrusive guest they hate,
And shun the contact of his altered fate.
Like some fall'n prince, by summer-flattery left,
He roams in exile, e'en of hope bereft !
While fond remembrance brings upon his view
Those woods, where once the mingled charms he
Of love and glory; when the rocks around [knew
Responsive rung with war or pleasure's sound;
When, like some Eastern lord, the female race
Alternate wantoned in his proud embrace.
All, all is fled! empire, and love, and fame,
Leave him a naked prey to death and shame.
What though some youthful stag, of dauntless face,
Spring to his aid and take his dangerous place,
The veteran dogs detect the useless snare,
And all the thunder of the chase is near.
Again he flies; and with experienced wile,
And sudden bound, he breaks the track a while;
Then, far sequestered from the beaten way,
On every side his fearful glances stray;
Backward he moves, and, as the trace is crossed,
He vainly hopes the steaming vapor lost,
Till, as he listening stops, the opening throat
Of hounds and huntsmen swells the deathful note.
Aghast he looks, each wily art is tried,
While fears unusual o'er his senses glide;
Each noise affrights, upon the breeze's breath;
Each tree becomes a foe - each foe is death!
Fatigued he quits the land; and, from the steepy side,
Plunges for refuge in the river's tide:

But fate awaits him there: the shrill-mouthed pack,
With glowing eyes, are ardent at his back;
Panting with fury, and with thirst inflamed,
With deafening cries the dire repast is claimed !
Not e'en the river can their thirst assuage,
For blood, and blood alone, impels their rage!

THE STAG AT BAY; HIS DEATH.

Exhausted now, no friendly shelter near, His weakness turns to fury and despair. Too late, alas! his slackened nerves lament In useless wiles their hardy vigor spent. Why did he not attend to Valor's call, And by his deeds give honor to his fall? At bay he stands: impelled by generous fire, The valiant only feel his quickened ire; [cries, Fierce 'gainst the host he springs, whose dreadful Mingled with pain, in wild confusion rise. What now avails his chest of ample show, Or stately honors that adorn his brow; His taper legs with matchless speed endowed, Beneath whose tread the herbage scarcely bowed? Tottering he falls; and while his eyeballs reel, Big drops distil that e'en his murderers feel!

THE MERE HUNTER AND SPORTSMAN.

With moderate heat pursue the sylvan game; Unlike the fool, that, everywhere the same, Talks of his dogs, his horses, and the chase, And deems his mansion stained with dire disgrace, Unless of fifty stags the branching horn, In state triumphant, the proud gates adorn; Who tedious tells the exploits of many a day, And, like the stag, his audience keeps at bay! Wouldst thou return beneath thy peaceful dome? More silent joys should decorate thy home.

THE FINE ARTS AND LITERATURE. THE AUTHOR. Join to the beauties of the varied field Those softer charms the Arts alone can yield. Hail! sister Arts, that every circle grace! What pleasure 's pure where you have not a place? To you the Sage's sweetest hours are due, With you his eyelids close, and wake for you : Oft, too, when all beside is veiled in night, The lamp's inspiring rays his vigils light. His boast and honor, more than treasure dear, Good fortune ye adorn, and adverse cheer; His youth's delight, hope of his latter day, His country-guests, and friends upon the way! With you e'en exile's self a refuge grows, Crowned with mild study, virtue, and repose. Thus Tully once, when to the country driven, Forgot the wounds ungrateful Rome had given ! Thus, emulating him, D'Aguesseau wooed In Fresne's green bowers the peace of solitude! Woe to the unfeeling souls, and flinty hearts, In fortune's sunshine that neglect the Arts! They, in their turn, when dire misfortunes press, Leave them, without resource, to vile distress. But with their friends one common cause they make, Their rustic joys or prison's gloom partake; Grateful with them in tedious exile roam, Console their pains or welcome them to home.

SOLITUDE; GRATEFUL IN YOUTH.

Nor summer day, nor books, nor verdant bower, Suffice me now to fill the vacant hour, Unless some friend my solitude should join, Give me his pleasures, and partake of mine. Days of my youth! when with a poet's fire I loved the Country in her worst attire, In some lone desert sought a resting-place, And for my friends, the woods and feathered race! Enthusiast still! my soul rejoiced to hear Full in the forest blow the tempest drear, Or midst the whirlwind mark the sturdy oak Bend to the blast, or rising from the stroke. E'en when the hills their wintry horrors wore, I climbed the steep, to list' the torrent's roar !....

COMPANIONSHIP INDISPENSABLE TO AGE.

"T is past now flows my blood with laggard pace, And sensual pleasures to the soul give place. The sweetest spot that fond retirement knows, If left to me alone, a desert grows.

Whatever joys the sylvan scenes prepare,
Some friend be near that may that pleasure share.

THE FRIEND. HIS VISIT. — SCENES OF CHILDHOOD
RENEWED. THE ARTIST'S VISIT.

Shut, then, the door upon the city guest,
That, with thy game, destroys thy time and rest;
But for thy friend, in long affection tried,
Adorn the room with hospitable pride;
Whether some neighbor, kinsman, or his son,
Review those scenes where first their life begun.
Perhaps some sire, in life's declining year,
Those woods revisits, to his memory dear,
In infant days that planted by his hand
Now wave aloft and decorate the land.
For him the groves a smiling aspect wear,
And fields and flowers his transport seem to share!
Or now arrives your childhood's earliest friend,
Pleased 'midst your harmless scenes his soul t' un-
Where each discovers, as around he looks,
His usual furniture, and favorite books.
Some painter next is there, whose magic touch
Each landscape doubles that you prize so much,
Or else delights with skilful hand to trace
The well-known features of some much-loved face.
While dearest objects thus your dwelling fill,
Your friends, though absent, give enjoyment still.

[bend,

THE FLOWER-PLANTED GRAVE. THE SWISS CUSTOM.

Nor to the living be the spot confined, But let the dead with thee a refuge find. Near yonder stream, where bending willows wave, Of some lost friend prepare the peaceful grave. There shall his dust more tranquil slumbers know Than 'midst the marble's monumental show. Take thou the good Helvetian for thy guide, That near some grove, or plaintive rivulet's side, His friend inters, and o'er the sacred ground Bids arbors rise, and flowers blossom round. The cherished spot he tends with fondest toil, And with its culture soothes his grief a while, In fancy breathing, from the fragrant rose, The soul of him o'er whom the flow'ret blows.

COMPLIMENT TO THE AUTHOR (DELILLE) BY THE POLISH PRINCESS CZARTORINSKA.

My vows are heard on ancient Vistula's side, Where roamed the Sarmat once, in savage pride, Of royal stem, a fair and warlike race, That in retirement give the country grace, Amidst their bowers have taught my muse to hope A tribute with Saint Lambert, Thomson, Pope. How shall I dare the proud distinction boast? 'Midst names so glorious will not mine be lost? Is there, perchance, some unfrequented spot, Some distant nook, unnoticed or forgot, Far, far from Gesner, or the Mantuan bard? Hosts of the scene, for me the asylum guard. Glad shall I see you, 'midst the laughing vales, Those lessons practise which my muse details, And, while dire party's troubled waves ye break, Enrich the hamlet, and the desert deck; Happy, should Echo from her green retreat My name, my homage, and my lays, repeat.

UNION OF THE HIGHER AND LOWER CLASSES BY MUTUAL KIND OFFICES AND SYMPATHY.

In town or country one great truth be known:
That pleasure's best, which is not all our own.
Wretched or happy, man from man receives,
And lives by halves, if for himself he lives.
Ye that in verdant fields no pleasure view,
Learn to do good, and pleasure will ensue.
Amidst the city, and its thronging host,
Riches and poverty alike are lost;

But where industrious Want and slothful Pride,
The castle and the cot, are side by side,
A contrast sad they to the mind present,
And 'gainst the wealthy rouse the indigent.
Then should thy bounty cover envy's spite,
Give life its balance, and misfortune right:
Correct the seasons, and allow the poor

That field to glean his hands have furrowed o'er;
Fill by its gifts the long, though useful, space,
That into different ranks divides our race.

MUTUAL KINDNESS IN THE COUNTRY. ALL NATURE MUTUALLY HELPFUL.

Where canst thou else more strong example find, Than in the fields, to rouse the mind? generous There, all around by mutual kindness live; The beasts that graze the field its fatness give. Yon tree, that moisture from the soil receives, Gives to the mother earth its dying leaves; The mountains pour the torrent o'er the lands, That cools the air; the air in dew expands. All gives and takes, all serves, and all enjoys! Man's heart alone the harmony destroys!

THE SELFISH RICH. THE SPENDTHRIFT.

Observe yon heir, that rues the treacherous die, Run o'er his forests with exacting eye; Without a tear his rich domains betray, And, like a burthen, cast his gold away. Thy gold a burthen? - Impudence of wealth! Why, then, does Famine sap yon infant's health?

Why, then, yon widowed dame, with pittance scant? Yon dowerless maid, or sire that dies for want?

WEALTH MADE A BLESSING. THE WISE EMPLOYER.

O had it pleased the will of bounteous Heaven To me some subject-hamlet to have given, Full happy then, and worthy to be so, Around my dome should plants and flow'rets grow ; The richest fruits should deck the teeming soil, But most should human faces round me smile. Never should Famine's pale and haggard mien Send dismal gloom athwart the happy scene. But man should toil: the ploughshare and the spade, And all the implements of rustic trade, With sure reward should wait the industrious hand, And labor banish misery from the land.

THE FREE MEDICINE CLOSET. CHARITY.

Nor that suffice: let sickness, age, and pain,
With thee a sure and ready succor gain:
Select the smallest of thy chambers vast,
Adorned with order, neat and decent taste;
Let it, with various med'cines amply stored,
To want diseased a constant aid afford.
Sloth, that from town-fatigue his visit pays,
Your carpet, mirrors, and saloon, may praise;
But this retreat, to goodness set apart,
Is sacred only to the feeling heart.

CHILDREN TAUGHT CHARITY.

Oft with thy bounties, too, thy presence show, And thus enhance the blessings you bestow; And let thy children there, with timid air, To timid want the secret offering bear: But most thy daughter, wearing on her face The first of beauties, Virtue's modest grace, Should to the wretched like an angel shine, And pay her first-fruit vows at Bounty's shrine. Thy offspring thus, with whom thy features grow, Thy mind and manners shall in image show: Their richest portion your example gives; And, reared by you, their infant virtue lives. Ye worldly men, disgust that dearly buy, These pleasures contemplate with jealous eye.

VILLAGE INFLUENCE.

The lowliest clown, beneath the cottage straw,
By Fancy's aid, to town and state gives law.
Fed by no error, or illusive pride,

I ne'er aspire for nations to decide:
Content with happiness in humble state,
Let me the peaceful village regulate;
And, while I feel the fancied empire mine,
Not to myself alone the task confine :
But every power that forms the scant domain
With equal efforts shall my sway maintain.
Ye, for whose help I write the village-law,
Instead of rules a portrait let me draw.

THE GOOD COUNTRY CLERGYMAN.

Seest thou you parsonage-house, of modest site? There lives the man of God: in holy rite

He bids the village prayers to heaven arise,
And opens all the treasure of the skies;

He comforts want, hallows the marriage bed,
And over fruits and flowers his blessings spread;
He teaches good, receives man from the womb,
Guides him through life, and follows to the tomb.

THE SELF-SEEKING PARSON.

Forbear to choose, for this sublimer post, The man in vile intrigue and avarice lost, Who, elsewhere stern, indulgent to himself, Deserts a humble cure for abject pelf; Whose manners base Religion's chair defile, Who to the day adapts his courtly style.

THE FAITHFUL PASTOR.

The faithful pastor, to his parish dear, Is like yon elm, that many a rolling year, Beneath its shade's hereditary reign, Has heard the gambols of the rustic train ; Whose branches green, that over time prevail, Have seen the children rise, the father fail : If counsel sage or bounty he dispense, He's to his flock another providence. What secret want escapes his searching aid? God only knows the happy he has made. In those retreats where want, disease, and pain, Dismay, and death, their dreadful sway maintain, Does he appear? lo! Terror takes his flight, And Death and Horror lose the power to fright. Esteemed by wealth, and by the wretched blest, He hinders guilt by aiding the distrest ; And rivals oft, with fiercest hate that burn, Meet at his table, and in peace return.

WEALTH SHOULD CHERISH RELIGION. THE VILLAGE PASTOR.

Respect his toils; and let your generous care
His modest house, devoid of pomp, prepare.
Within, by virtue's richest treasure graced ;
Without, adorned with neat and simplest taste.
Partake with him the produce of thy grounds;
And be his altar with thy offerings crowned.
In holy league for mutual good combined,
With his instructions be thy actions joined.
Not Rome, triumphant o'er the world that rose,
A nobler scene could to the sight disclose,
Than does the village, by its reverend guide
And virtuous sage relieved and edified !
The sage's bounty and the pastor's prayer
Drive from the cottage misery and despair.

THE VILLAGE SCHOOLMASTER.

Resides there not a second power here, Whose looks the rustic long has learned to fear? Descend, my muse, nor yet debate thy strain, And paint the pedant of the village train. Nor that suffice, but let thy prudent lay Attach due honor to his useful sway. He comes at length in consequential state, And self-importance marks his solemn gait. Read, write, and count, 't is certain he can do ;

Instruct at school, and sing at chapel too;
Foresee the changing moon and tempest dread,
And e'en in Latin once some progress made:
In learned disputes still firm and valiant found,
Though vanquished, still he scorns to quit the ground;
Whilst, wisely used to gather time and strength,
His crabbed words prolong their laggard length.
The rustics gaze around, and scarce suppose
That one poor brain could carry all he knows.
But in his school, to each neglect severe,
So much to him is learning's progress dear,
Comes he? upon his smooth or ruffled brow
His infant tribe their destiny may know.
He nods, they part; again, and they assemble :
Smile, if he laughs; and if he frowns, they tremble.
He soothes or menaces, as best befits,
And now chastises, or he now acquits.
F'en when away, his wary subjects fear,

Lest the unseen bird should whisper in his ear
Who laughs or talks, or slumbers o'er his book,
Or from what hand the ball his visage struck.

THE BIRCH.-CHANONAT. EVERY ORDERLY OFFICE SHOULD

BE DULY HONORED.

Nor distant far the birch is seen to rise
The birch, that heeds not their imploring cries.
If chance the breeze its boughs should lightly shake,
With pale affright the puny urchins quake.
Thus, gentle Chanonat, beside thy bed, [dread;
I've touched that tree, my childhood's friend and
That willow-tree, whose tributary spray
Armed my stern pedant with his sceptred sway.
Such is the master of the village-school :

Be it thy care to dignify his rule.
The wise man learns each rank to appreciate;
But fools alone despise the humbler state.
In spite of pride, in office, great or low,
Be modest one, and one importance know.
Be by himself his post an honor deemed :
He must esteem himself to be esteemed.

SCHOOL-CHILDREN; EACH HAS HIS CHARACTERISTICS; CATO.

What pleasing sights does yonder group create !
Their infant sports, their contest, and debate.
Man loves to see, as ripened wisdom grows,
Its fruits enrich the soil from whence it rose.
But who can view, nor secret pleasure know,
Life yet in bud, and manhood on the blow?
'Tis then that man's himself: no artful guise
Spreads o'er his young desire its treacherous dyes.
One, smarting still from chastisement severe,
Docile and mild, forgets the short-lived tear;
Stung by the affront, a smile his anger charms,
And to returning love his bosom warms.
A second, firm alike in hate or love,

No prayers appease, and no caresses move:
Silent he stands, with stern and downcast eyes,
And every proffered gift with scorn denies.
E'en so in Cato's infant years we find
The haughty firmness of his manly mind.

THE CHILD IS FATHER OF THE MAN.' THE VARIOUS DESTINIES OF SCHOOL-CHILDREN.

Amidst their pastimes, let thine eye explore
The sports where instinct first begins to soar;
Where various talents in assemblage found,
One turns the historian of the country round.
A second Euclid on the dusty soil

Draws squares and circles, which the winds despoil;
With charcoal pencil here a Rubens stands ;
Or infant Chevert ranks his warrior bands :
On yonder side, with meditating air,

A rival Boileau, Pascal, or Molière.

He now content through wheeling rounds to urge
The spinning box, that groans beneath the scourge,
In future day, perhaps, with critic zeal,
Shall bid our erring bards his lashes feel!
Another, too, with Molé, Preville's skill,
Of fop or clown the mimic part may fill.

A Pope or Locke but wait the fostering hand
Of some kind friend, their genius to expand :-
As yonder flower, expecting to be born,
The solar ray, or dewy tear of morn.
He now delights, nor thinks of future fame,
To see the pebble, which his fingers aim,
Skim on the wave, by turns descend and rise;
Or mark his kite, that flutters near the skies.

THE SPARK OF GENIUS TO BE CHERISHED.

The germ of genius let your care pursue, Should some good chance present it to your view. Reared and protected by your kindly aid, The rustic plant shall spread its rising shade; On you at length its choicest fruits bestow : Sweeter to him that made the sapling grow.

GHOST-STORIES PERNICIOUS TO CHILDHOOD.

Nor prejudice, nor superstitious dread, Amongst the children of thy care should spread. Nor distant far the time, when all around With midnight sprites each village did abound: Each castle near its ghost or goblin knew, And every hamlet had its sorcerer too; When babbling age, with long and dreary tale, Broke the soft quiet of her nursling pale: But most, when near the nightly taper's gloom The hour of evening bade the village come, Some story sad, of midnight ghosts that spoke, Still close and closer drew the frightened folk. Let none these fictions to thy charge rehearse, Offspring of Prejudice, and Error's nurse : But rather tell them how the reaper's care Leaves for the gleaner's want the scattered ear; Of pious duties, and the secret hand

That feeds the orphan, blasts the murderous band.

RUSTIC SPORTS AND HOLIDAYS ADVISED AND PLEADED FOR.

While thus thy bounty bids the village live,
Doctrine to youth, to age assistance give;
Nor that be all; but let some harmless joy
The vacant hour on festivals employ.

Scarce can the muse believe that barbarous pride

Would have these comforts to the poor denied ;
These days, say they, with barren leisure joined,
By useless pleasure are from toil purloined.
Thus would their kindness to the poor dispense
Excess of labor for their recompense!
Why shouldst thou grieve that the laborious hind
On solemn days some relaxation find?
Why damp his music, or the rustic lay,
Or grudge the village-maid her neat array ?
Let them, at least, in recompense for pain,
Some share of life and happiness obtain.

Their simple mirth, encouraged still by thee,
Even now in Fancy's perspective I see.
Grant me, some power, a share of Teniers' skill,
To paint the pleasures which the circle fill!

RUSTIC AMUSEMENTS OF YOUNG AND OLD.

Two veterans here relate with proud delight Their past amours, or actions in the fight; One tells his rank, or in what bloody fray Himself and Saxe alone had gained the day!

SWINGING.

Whilst Eglé near, suspended in the air, Looks from the swinging cord with dizzy fear : The frolic zephyr through her garment blows, That modesty is anxious to compose.

BALL-PLAY.

On yonder circle green, the reeling bowl Pursues its rival to the distant goal! The skilful umpire, kneeling o'er the place, Measures the distance, and decides the space. There, too, the elastic racquet's aid denied, The bandied ball is tost from side to side. Two active rivals here contend for fame; They start; a shout proclaims the victor's name.

BOWLING.

On yonder side, launched on with sudden force, The rolling ball attacks in rapid course The wooden cones, arranged along the plain, That falling oft as often rise again. Sometimes, with eye that marks each interval, The wary player meditates their fall: Long time he threatens ere the ball is thrown; At length determines, and the nine are down.

ARCHERY.

Here skilful archers draw the bending yew, And for their mark the trembling pigeon view. The first but glances on the fluttering wing; A second takes his aim, and cuts the string; But vain the pigeon's flight; with rapid eye A third o'ertakes him soaring to the sky; [beat, Wheeling through air, his blood-stained pinions And bring the arrow to the victor's feet.

THE RUSTIC DANCE.

Near yonder church, beneath the elm-tree's shade, The village youth their meeting-place have made :