My fancy, ere yet liberty of choice Had found me, or the hope of being free. My very dreams were rural, rural too The first-born efforts of my youthful muse, Ere yet her ear was mistress of their pow'rs. The ruftic throng beneath his fav'rite beech. As twice fev'n years, his beauties had then firft The joy half lost because not sooner found. Thee Thee too, enamour'd of the life I lov'd, Pathetic in its praise, in its purfuit Determin'd, and poffeffing it at last With transports fuch as favor'd lovers feel, I studied, priz'd, and wish'd that I had known, I still revere thee, courtly though retir'd, 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, And though th' Almighty Maker has throughout And touches of his hand, with fo much art Diversified, 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 exact, 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 fmother of true worth The glimpse of a green pasture, how they cheer A garden, in which nothing thrives, has charms That foothe the rich poffeffor; much confol'd He He cultivates. Thefe ferve him with a hint That Nature lives; that fight-refreshing green Is ftill the liv'ry fhe delights to wear, Though fickly famples of th' exub'rant whole. What are the cafements lin'd with creeping herbs, The prouder fashes fronted with a range Of orange, myrtle, or the fragrant weed * 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 supplemental shifts, the best he may? The most unfurnish'd with the means of life, Sufpend their crazy boxes, planted thick, And water'd duly. There the pitcher stands * Mignonnette. A fragment, A fragment, and the spoutless tea-pot there; Hail, therefore, patronefs of health and eafe, I shall not add myself to fuch a chace, He gives a tongue t' enlarge upon, an heart VOL. II. N To |