Imágenes de página
PDF
ePub

By modern lights, from an erroneous taste,
I cannot but lament thy splendid wit
Entangled in the cobwebs of the schools.
I still revere thee, courtly though retir'd,
Though stretch'd at cafe in Chertfey's filent bow'rs,
Not unemploy'd, and finding rich amends
For a loft world in folitude and verse.

'Tis born with all: the love of Nature's works
Is an ingredient in the compound, man,
Infus'd at the creation of the kind.

And though th' Almighty Maker has throughout
Discriminated each from each, by strokes
And touches of his hand, with so much art
Diverfified, that two were never found
Twins at all points—yet this obtains in all,

That all difcern a beauty in his works,

And all can taste them: minds that have been

form'd

And tutor❜d with a relish more exa&,

But none without fome relish, none unmov'd.

It is a flame that dies not even there,

Where nothing feeds it: neither business, crowds, Nor habits of luxurious city-life,

Whatever else they smother of true worth

In human bofoms, quench it, or abate.

The

The yillas with which London stands begirt,
Like a swarth Indian with his belt of beads,
Prove it. A breath of unadult'rate air,

The glimpse of a green pasture, how they cheer
The citizen, and brace his languid frame !
Ev'n in the ftifling bofom of the town,

A garden, in which nothing thrives, has charms
That footh the rich poffeffor; much confol'd
That here and there some sprigs of mournful mint,
Of nightshade, or valerian, grace the well
He cultivates. Thefe ferve him with a hint
That Nature lives; that fight-refreshing green
Is ftill the liv'ry she delights to wear,

Though fickly famples of th' exub'rant whole.
What are the casements lin❜d with creeping herbs,
The prouder fafhes fronted with a range

Of orange, myrtle, or the fragrant weed

[ocr errors]

The Frenchman's * darling? Are they not all

proofs

That man, immur'd in cities, ftill retains

His inborn inextinguishable thirst

Of rural scenes, compenfating his lofs

By fupplemental fhifts, the best he may?

• Mignonnette.

The

The most unfurnish'd with the means of life,
And they that never pass their brick-wall bounds
To range the fields and treat their lungs with air,
Yet feel the burning inftin&: over-head
Sufpend their crazy boxes, planted thick,
And water'd duly. There the pitcher stands
A fragment, and the fpoutlefs tea-pot there;
Sad witneffes how clofe-pent man regrets
The country, with what ardour he contrives
A peep at nature, when he can no more.
Hail, therefore, patronefs of health and cafe
And contemplation, heart-consoling joys
And harmless pleasures, in the throng'd abode
Of multitudes unknown! hail, rural life!
Addrefs himself who will to the pursuit
Of honors, or emolument, or fame,
I shall not add myself to fuch a chace,
Thwart his attempts, or envy his success.
Some must be great. Great offices will have
Great talents and God gives to ev'ry man
The virtue, temper, understanding, taste,
That lifts him into life, and lets him fall
Juft in the niche he was ordain'd to fill.
To the deliv❜rer of an injur'd land

He gives a tongue t' enlarge upon, an heart

VOL. II.

H

To

To feel, and courage to redress her wrongs;
To monarchs dignity, to judges fsense,
To artists ingenuity and skill;

To me an unambitious mind, content
In the low vale of life, that early felt
A wifh for eafe and leifure, and ere long
Found here that leisure and that ease I wish'd.

[blocks in formation]
« AnteriorContinuar »