His wafted fpirits quickly, by long toil
Incurring fhort fatigue, and though our years As life declines, fpeed rapidly away,
And not a year but pilfers as he goes
Some youthful grace that age would gladly keep, A tooth or auburn lock, and by degrees.
Their length and colour from the locks they fpare; Th' elaftic fpring of an unwearied foot
That mounts the ftile with ease, or leaps the fence, That play of lungs, inhaling and again Refpiring freely the fresh air, that makes Swift pace or steep afcent no toil to me, Mine have not pilfer'd yet; nor yet impair'd My relish of fair profpect; fcenes that footh'd Or charm'd me young, no longer young, I find Still foothing, and of power to charm me ftill.. And witness, dear companion of my walks, Whofe arm this twentieth winter I perceive Fast lock'd in mine, with pleasure fuch as love, Confirm'd by long experience of thy worth
And well-tried virtues, could alone inspire- Witness a joy that thou haft doubled long, Thou know'ft my praife of nature moft fincere, And that my raptures are not conjur'd up To ferve occasions of poetic pomp,
But genuine, and art partner of them all. How oft upon yon eminence our pace
Has flacken'd to a paufe, and we have borne The ruffling wind, fcarce conscious that it blew, While admiration feeding at the eye,
And still unfated, dwelt upon the scene.
Thence with what pleasure have we just difcern'd The distant plough flow-moving, and beside
His lab'ring team, that fwerv'd not from the track, The sturdy fwain diminish'd to a boy!
Here Ouse, flow winding through a level plain Of fpacious meads with cattle fprinkled o'er, Conducts the eye along his finuous course Delighted. There, faft rooted in their bank Stand, never overlook'd, our fav'rite elms,
That screen the herdsman's folitary hut;
While far beyond, and overthwart the stream That as with molten glafs inlays the vale, The floping land recedes into the clouds;
Difplaying on its varied fide the grace
Of hedge-row beauties numberless, square tow'r, Tall spire, from which the found of chearful bells Juft undulates upon the lift'ning ear;
Groves, heaths, and smoaking villages remote. Scenes must be beautiful which daily view'd Please daily, and whofe novelty furvives Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years. Praise justly due to those that I describe.
Nor rural fights alone, but rural founds Exhilarate the spirit, and restore
The tone of languid Nature. Mighty winds, That sweep the fkirt of fome far-fpreading wood Of ancient growth, make mufic not unlike
The dafh of ocean on his winding fhore,
And lull the spirit while they fill the mind; Unnumber'd branches waving in the blast, And all their leaves faft flutt'ring, all at once, Nor lefs compofure waits upon the roar Of distant floods, or on the fofter voice Of neighb'ring fountain, or of rills that flip Through the cleft rock, and chiming as they fall Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length In matted grafs, that with a livelier green Betrays the fecret of their filent course. Nature inanimate employs fweet founds,
But animated Nature sweeter still,
To foothe and fatisfy the human ear.
Ten thousand warblers chear the day, and one
The live-long night: nor these alone, whofe notes
Nice-finger'd art must emulate in vain,
But cawing rooks, and kites that swim fublime
In still repeated circles, fcreaming loud;
The jay, the pie, and ev'n the boding owl
That hails the rifing moon, have charms for me,
Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh, Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns, And only there, please highly for their fake.
Peace to the artift, whofe ingenious thought Devis'd the weather-houfe, that useful toy! Fearless of humid air and gathering rains Forth steps the man, an emblem of myself, More delicate his tim'rous mate retires.
When Winter foaks the fields, and female feet, Too weak to ftruggle with tenacious clay, Or ford the rivulets, are beft at home,
The task of new difcov'ries falls on me.
At fuch a season and with fuch a charge
Once went I forth, and found, till then unknown, A cottage, whither oft we fince repair:
'Tis perch'd upon the green-hill top, but close Environ'd with a ring of branching elms That overhang the thatch, itself unfeen Peeps at the vale below; fo thick befet
« НазадПродовжити » |