How foon obedient Flora brought her store,
And o'er thy breaft a fhower of fragrance flung:
Vertumnus came; his earliest blooms he bore,
And thy rich fides with waving purple hung:
Then to the fight he call'd yon ftately spire,
He pierc'd th' oppofing oak's luxuriant fhade.
Bad yonder crowding hawthorns low retire,
Nor veil the glories of the golden mead.
Hail, fylvan wonders, hail! and hail the hand
Whofe native taste thy native charms display'd,
And taught one little acre to command
Each envied happiness of scene and shade.
Is there a hill whofe diftant azure bounds
The ample range of Scarfdale's proud domain,
A mountain hoar, that yon' wild peak furrounds,
But lends a willing beauty to thy plain?
And, lo! in yonder path, 1 fpy my friend;
He looks the guardian genius of the grove,
Mild as the fabled form that whilom deign'd,
At Milton's call, in Hartfield's haunts to rove.
Blefs'd fpirit, come! tho' pent in mortal mould,
I'll yet invoke thee by that purer name ;
O come, a portion of thy blifs unfold,
From folly's maze my wayward fteps reclaim.
* See the defcription of the Genius of the Wood in Milton's Arcades,
For know by lot, from Jove I am the power
Of this fair wood, and live in oaken bower;
To nurfe the faplings tall, and curl the
With ringlets quaint, &c.
Too long alas my inexperienc'd youth,
Mifled by flatt'ring fortune's fpecious tale,
Has left the rural reign of peace and truth,
The huddling brook, and cave, and whifp'ring vale.
Won to the world, a candidate for praise,
Yet, let me boaft, by no ignoble art.
Too oft the public ear has heard my lays,
Too much its vain applause has touch'd my heart :
But now 'ere cuftom binds his powerful chains,
Come from the bafe enchanter fet me free,
While yet my foul its firft beft tafte retains,
Recall that foul to reafon, peace, and thee.
Teach me, like thee, to mufe on nature's page,
To mark each wonder in creation's plan,
Each mode of being trace, and humbly fage,
Deduce from thefe the genuine powers of man.
Of man, while warm'd with reafon's purer ray,
No tool of policy, no dupe to pride;
Before vain feience led his talle aftray;
When confcience was his law, and God his guide.
This let me learn, and learning let me live
The leffon o'er. From that great guide of truth
0 may my fuppliant foul the boon receive
To tread thro' age the footiteps of thy youth.
Written in a COUNTRY CHURCH YARD.
HE curfew tells the knell of parting day, The lowing herd wind flowly o'er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the fight,
And all the air a folemn flillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the diftant folds;
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of fuch, as wand'ring near her secret bow'r,
Moleft her ancient, folitary reign.
Beneath thofe rugged elms, that yew-tree's fhade, Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
The rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep.
The breezy call of incenfe-breathing Morn,
The fwallow twittering from the ftraw-built fhed,
The cock's fhrill clarion, or the echoing horn,
No more fhall rouze them from their lowly bed.
For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn,
Or bufy housewife ply her evening care:
No children run to lifp their fire's return,、
Or climb his knees the envied kifs to fhare.
Oft did the harvest to their fickle yield,
Their furrow oft the ftubborn glebe has broke;
How jocund did they drive their teem afield!
How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and defliny obfcure;
Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,
The fhort and fimple annals of the poor.
The boat of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Await alike th' inevitable hour.
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Nor you, ye Proud, impute to These the fault,
If Mem'ry o'er their Tomb no Trophies raife,
Where through the long-drawn ifle and fretted vault
The pealing anthem fwells the note of praife.
Can ftoried urn or animated buft
Back to its maufion call the fleeting breath?
Can honour's voice provoke the filent duft,
Or Flatt'ry footh the dull cold car of Death?
Perhaps in this neglected fpot is laid
Some heart once pregnant with celeflial fire;
Hands, that the rod of empire might have fway'd,
Or wak'd to extafy the living lyre.
But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page
Rich with the fpoils of Time did ne'er unroll;
Chill Penury reprefs'd their noble rage,
And froze the genial current of the foul.
Full many a gem of pureft ray ferene,
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear;
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And wafte its sweetness on the defart air.
Some village-Hampden, that with dauntlefs breaft
The little Tyrant of his fields withstood;
Some mute inglorious Milton here may reft,
Some Cromwell guiltlefs of his country's blood.
Th' applaufe of lift'ning fenates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to defpife.
To fcatter plenty o'er a fmiling land,
And read their hift'ry in a nation's eyes,
Their lot forbad: nor circumfcrib'd alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd:
Forbad to wade through flaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind.
The fruggling pangs of confcious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous frame,
Or heap the fhrine of Luxury and Pride
With incenfe kindled at the Mufe's fame.
Far from the madding crowd's ignoble ftrife
Their fober wifhes never learn'd to ftray;
Along the cool fequefter'd vale of life
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.
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