Puslapio vaizdai

Escap'd from winter's freezing pow'r
Each blossom greets thee, and each fow'r;

And, foremost of the train,
By nature (artless handmaid) drest
The snow-drop comes in lillied vest

Prophetic of thy reign.
The lark now strains her tuneful throat,
And ev'ry loud, and sprightly note

Calls echo from her cell;
-Be warn’d, ye maids, that listen round,
A beauteous nymph became a found,

The nymph, who loy'd too well.
The bright-hair'd fun, with warmth benign,
Bids tree and shrub, and swelling vine,

Their infant buds display:
Again the streams refresh the plains,
Which winter bound in icy chains,

And sparkling bless his ray.
Life-giving zephyrs breathe around,
And instant glows th' enameli'd ground
With nature's varied hues;

Not so returns our youth decay'd,
Alas! nor air, nor sun, nor shade

The spring of life renews.
The sun's too quick revolving beam
A-pace diffolves the human dream,

And brings th' appointed hour;
Too late we catch his parting ray,
And mourn the idly wasted day,

No longer in our pow'r.
Then happiest he, whose lengthen'd fight
Pursues by virtue's constant light

A hope beyond the skies;
Where frowning winter ne'er shall come,
But rofy spring for ever bloom,

And funs eternal rise.


[G A Y.]
IS not that rural sports alone invite,
But all the grateful country breathes delight;


'T ;

Here blooming health exerts her gentle reign,
And strings the finews of th' industrious swain.
Soon as the morning lark falutes the day,
Through dewy fields I take my frequent way,
Where I behold the farmer's early care,
In the revolving labours of the year.
When the fresh spring in all her state is crown'd,
And high luxuriant grass o'erspreads the ground,
The lab'rer with the bending scythe is seen,
Shaving the surface of the waving green,
Of all her native pride difrobes the land,
And meads lays waste before his sweeping hand;
While with the mounting sun the meadow glows,

The fading herbage round he loosely throws;
But if some fign portend a lasting show'r,
Th' experienc'd swain foresees the coming hour,
His fun-burnt hands the scatt'ring fork forlake,
And ruddy damsels ply the saving rake;
In rising hills the fragrant harvest grows,
And spreads along the field in equal.rows.
Now when the height of heav'n bright Phoebus gains,
And level rays cleave wide the thirlty plains,
When heifers seek the shade and cooling lake,
And in the middle path-way basks the snake;
O lead me, guard me from the sultry hours,
Hide me, ye forests, in your closest bowers :
Where the tall oak his fpreading arms entwines,
And with the beech a mutual shade combines;
Where flows the murmuring brook, inviting dreams,
Where bordering hazle overhangs the streams,
Whose rolling current, winding round and round,
With frequent falls makes all the wood resound;
Upon the mossy couch my limbs I cast,
And ev'n at noon the sweets of ev’ning taste.

Here I peruse the Mantuan's Georgic strains,
And learn the labours of Italian swains;
In ev'ry page I fee new landscapes rise,
And all Hesperia opens to my eyes.
I wander o'er the various rural toil,
And know the nature of each different foil:
This waving field is gilded o'er with corn,
That spreading trees with blushing fruit adorn:


Here I survey the purple vintage grow,
Climb round the poles, and rise in graceful row:
Now I behold the steed curvet and bound,
And paw with restless hoof the smoaking ground.

The careful insect 'midst his works I view,
Now from the flow'rs exhauft the fragrant dew;
With golden treasures load his little thighs,
And steer his distant journey through the skies;
Some against hoftile drones the hive defend;
Others with sweets the waxen cells distend:
Each in the toil his destin'd office bears,
And in the little bulk a mighty soul appears.

Or when the ploughman leaves the task of day,
And trudging homeward whistles on the way;
When the big udder'd cows with patience stand,
Waiting the Itroakings of the damsel's hand;
No warbling chears the woods; the feather'd choir
To court kind flumbers to their sprays retire;
When no rude gale disturbs the fleeping trees,
Nor aspen leaves confess the gentleft breeze;
Engag'd in thought, to Neptune's bounds í stray,
To take my farewell of the parting day;
Far in the deep the fun his glory hides,
A streak of gold the sea and lky divides :
The purple clouds their amber linings fhow,
And edg'd with flames rolls ev'ry wave below:
Here penfive I behold the fading light,
And o'er the distant billow lose my fight.

Now night in filent state begins to rife,
And twinkling orbs beftrow th' uncloudy fkies;
Her borrow'd lustre growing Cynthia Jends,
And on the main a glittering path extends;
Millions of worlds hang in the spacious air,
Which round their suns their annual circle steer,
Sweet contemplation elevates my fenfe,
While I furvey the works of providence.
O could the muse in loftier strains rehearse
The glorious Author of the universe,
Who reins the winds, gives the vast ocean bounds,
And circumscribes the Aoating worlds their rounds,
My soul should overflow in songs of praise,
And my Creator's name inspire my lays!



[G AY)
Happy plains, remote from wars alarms,

And all the ravages of hoftile arms!
And happy shepherds, who secure from fear, at
On open downs preserve your fleecy care!
Whore spacious barns groan with increasing store,
And whirling Aails disjoint the cracking floor :
No barb'rous soldier, bent on cruel spoil,
Spreads desolation o'er your fertile soil ;
No trampling steed lays waste the ripen'd grain,
Nor crackling fires devour the promis'd gain:
No Aaming beacons cast their blaze afar,
The dreadful signal of invasive war;
No trumpet's clangor wounds the mother's ear,
And calls the lover from his swooning fair.

What happiness the rural maid attends,
In chearful labour while each day she spends !
She gratefully receives what heav'n has sent,
And, rich in poverty, enjoys content:
(Such happiness, and such unblemith'd fame,
Ne'er glad the bofom of the courtly dame)
She never feels the spleen's imagin'd pains, i
Nor melancholy stagnates in her veins;

. She never loses life in thoughtless ease, Nor on the velvet couch invites disease: Her home-spun dress in fimple neatness lies, And for no glaring equipage she fighs; Her reputation, which is all her boast, sistemul In a malicious visit ne'er was loft; online No midnight masquerade her beauty wears, al And health, not paint, the fading bloom repairs. If love's soft paffion in her bofom reign, An equal passion warms her happy swain; No home-bred jars her quiet state controul, Nor watchful jealousy torments her soul; With secret joy she sees her little race Hang on her breast, and her small cottage gracesit? The Acecy ball their busy fingers cull, Or from the fpindle draw the length’ning wool: 110 Thus flow her hours with constant peace of mind, Till age the latest thread of life unwind.


Ye happy fields, unknown to noise and strife,
The kind rewarders of industrious life;
Ye shady woods, where once I us’d to rove,
Alike indulgent to the muse and love;
Ye murm'ring streams that in meanders roll,
The sweet composers of the penfive soul,
Farewell. The city calls me from your bow'rs:
Farewell amusing thoughts and peaceful hours.

The ADVANTAGES of WALKING: The miferable Fate-of a BE A U.

(GAY.] O

Ye associate walkers, O my friends,

Upon your state what happiness attends !
What, tho? no coach to frequent visit rolls,
Nor for your shilling chairmen fling their poles;
Yet ftill your nerves rheumatic pains defy,
Nor lazy jaundice dulls your faffron eye;
No wasting cough discharges founds of death,
Nor wheezing asthma heaves in vain for breath;
Nor from your restless couch is heard the groan
Of burning gout, or fedentary stone.
Let others in the jolting coach confide,
Or in the leaky boat the Thames divide;
Or, box'd within the chair, contemn the street,
And trust their safety to another's feet.
Still let me walk; for oft the sudden gale
Ruffles the tide, and shifts the dang'rous fail.
Then shall the passenger too late deplore
The whelming billow, and the faithless oar;
The drunken chairman in the kennel spurns,
The glaffes shatters, and his charge o'erturns.
Who can recount the coach's various harms,
The legs disjointed, and the broken arms?

I've seen a beau, in some ill fated hour,
When o'er the stones choak'd kennels fwell the show'r,
In gilded chariot loll; he with disdain
Views spatter'd passengers all drench'd in rain;
With mud filld high, the rumbling cart draws near,
Now rule thy prancing steeds, lac'd charioteer !


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