Folding the Flocks.

133

FOLDING THE FLOCKS.

SHEPHERDS all and maidens fair,
Fold your flocks up; for the air
'Gins to thicken, and the sun
Already his great course hath run.
See the dew-drops how they kiss
Ev'ry little flow'r that is;
Hanging on their velvet heads
Like a string of crystal beads.
See the heavy clouds low falling,
And bright Hesperus down calling
The dead night from under ground;
At whose rising mists unsound,
Damps and vapours, fly apace,
Hov'ring o'er the smiling face
Of these pastures, where they come,
Striking dead both bud and bloom :
Therefore, from such danger lock
Ev'ry one his loved flock,

And let your dogs lie loose without,
Lest the wolf come as a scout

From

From the mountain, and ere day

Bear a lamb or kid away ;

Or the crafty thievish fox

Break upon your simple flocks.

VILLAGE SOUNDS.

FLETCHER.

SWEET was the sound, when oft at ev'ning's close

Up yonder hill the village murmur rose!
There as I pass'd with careless steps and slow,
The mingling notes came soften'd from below:
The swain responsive as the milk-maid sung;
The sober herd that low'd to meet their young;
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool;
The playful children just let loose from school;
The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whisp'ring
wind;

And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind
These all in soft confusion sought the shade,
And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made

GOLDSMITH.

A Storm in Harvest.

135

A STORM IN HARVEST.

Ev'N when the farmer, now secure of fear,
Sends in the swains to spoil the finish'd year;
Ev'n when the reaper fills his greedy hands,
And binds the golden sheaves in brittle bands;
Oft have I seen a sudden storm arise

From all the warring winds that sweep the skies.
The heavy harvest from the root is torn,
And whirl'd aloft the lighter stubble borne;
With such a force the flying rack is driv'n,
And such a winter wears the face of heav'n:
The lofty skies at once come pouring down.
The promis'd crop and golden labours drown.
The dikes are fill'd, and with a roaring sound
The rising rivers float the nether ground;
And rocks the bellowing voice of boiling seas
rebound.

The father of the gods his glory shrouds,
Involv'd in tempests and a night of clouds;
And from the middle darkness flashing out,
By fits he deals his fiery bolts about.

N 2

Deep

Deep horror seizes ev'ry human breast,
Their pride is humbled, and their fear confest:
While he from high his rolling thunder throws,
And fires the mountains with repeated blows:
The rocks are from their old foundations rent;
The winds redouble, and the rains augment:
The waves in heaps are dash'd against the shore,
And now the woods and now the billows roar.
DRYDEN'S VIRGIL.

DAY-BREAK.

SEE, the day begins to break,
And the light shoots like a streak
Of subtle fire; the wind blows cold
While the morning doth unfold;
Now the birds begin to rouse,
And the squirrel from the boughs
Leaps, to get him nuts and fruit;

The early lark, that erst was mute,
Carols in the rising day

Many a note and many a lay.

FLETCHER.

SWEET rural scene

Of flocks and green!

At careless ease my limbs are spread ;
All nature still,

But yonder rill!

And list'ning pines nod o'er my head:

In prospect wide

The boundless tide!

Waves cease to foam, and winds to roar:
Without a breeze,

The curling seas

Dance on in measure to the shore.

Through nature wide,
Is nought descried

So rich in pleasure and surprise;
When all serene,

How sweet the scene!

How dreadful when the billows rise!

When tempests cease,

And hush'd in peace
N 3

The