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, Of yon grim wolf, the country's scourge and dread? 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, But fate awaits him there: the shrill-mouthed pack, 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, THE FRIEND. HIS VISIT. — SCENES OF CHILDHOOD Shut, then, the door upon the city guest, [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: But where industrious Want and slothful Pride, That field to glean his hands have furrowed o'er; 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, 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, I ne'er aspire for nations to decide: 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, He comforts want, hallows the marriage bed, 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 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; Lest the unseen bird should whisper in his ear THE BIRCH.-CHANONAT. EVERY ORDERLY OFFICE SHOULD BE DULY HONORED. Nor distant far the birch is seen to rise Be it thy care to dignify his rule. SCHOOL-CHILDREN; EACH HAS HIS CHARACTERISTICS; CATO. What pleasing sights does yonder group create ! No prayers appease, and no caresses move: THE CHILD IS FATHER OF THE MAN.' THE VARIOUS DESTINIES OF SCHOOL-CHILDREN. Amidst their pastimes, let thine eye explore Draws squares and circles, which the winds despoil; A rival Boileau, Pascal, or Molière. He now content through wheeling rounds to urge A Pope or Locke but wait the fostering hand 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, Scarce can the muse believe that barbarous pride Would have these comforts to the poor denied ; Their simple mirth, encouraged still by thee, 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 : |