Hence charter'd boroughs are such public plagues And burghers, men immaculate perhaps cuci bel In all their private functions, once combin'd, 71/ Become a loathsome body, only fit

For dissolution, hurtful to the main. to noqë
Hence merchants, unimpeachable of sinsy and
Against the charities of domestic life,
Incorporated seem at once to lose
Their nature; and, disclaiming all regarde patof
For mercy and the common rights of man, 21:10
Build factories with blood, conducting tradedT
At the sword's point, and dyeing the white robe T
Of innocent commercial Justice red
or wek
Hence too the field of glory, as the world
Misdeems it, dazzled by it's bright array,
With all it's majesty of thund'ring pomp,'
Enchanting music and immortal wreaths, Dwi LA
Is but a school, where thoughtlessness is taught
On principle, where foppery atones

For folly, gallantry for ev'ry vice.

T

But slighted as it is, and by the great c Abandon'd, and, which still I more regret,20 190 Infected with the manners and the modes, InW It knew not once, the country wins me still. 21 I never fram'd a wish, or form'd a plan, sari That flatter'd me with hopes of earthly bliss, & But there I laid the scene. There early stray'd!

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,
Sportive and jingling her poetic bells,

Ere yet her ear was mistress of their pow'rs.
No bard could please me but whose lyre was tun'd
To Nature's praises. Heroes and their feats
Fatigu'd me, never weary of the pipe

Of Tityrus, assembling, as he sang,

The rustic throng beneath his fav'rite beech.
Then Milton had indeed a poet's charms :
New to my taste his Paradise surpass'd
The struggling efforts of my boyish tongue,
To speak it's excellence. I danc'd for joy.
I marvell'd much that, at so ripe an age
As twice seven years, his beauties had then first
Engag'd my wonder; and admiring still,
And still admiring, with regret suppos'd
The joy half lost, because not sooner found.
There too enamour'd of the life I lov'd,
Pathetic in it's praise, in it's pursuit
Determin'd, and possessing it at last

With transports, such as favour'd lovers feel,
I studied, priz'd, and wish'd that I had known,
Ingenious Cowley! and, though now reclaim'd
By modern lights from an erroneous taste,
I cannot but lament thy splendid wit

Entangled in the cobwebs of the schools. „nabing A
I still revere thee, courtly though retir'da teďT
Though stretch'd at ease in Chertsey's silent bow'rs
Not unemploy'd; and finding rich amends in 70
For a lost world in solitude and verse. vaigs H
'Tis born with all: the love of Nature's works
Is an ingredient in the compound man,
Infus'd at the creation of the kind,

T

And, though th' Almighty Maker has throughout Discriminated each from each, by strokes

And touches of his hand, with so much art pro 10 Diversified, that two were never found

Twins at all points-yet this obtains in all,

That all discern 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 some 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 smother of true worth.

In human bosoms; quench it or abate.
The villas, with which London stands begirt,
Like a swarth Indian with his belt of beads,
Prove it. A breath of unadult'rate air, te qsoq A
The glimpse of a green pasture, how they cheer
The citizen, and brace his languid frame!

VI 2008

Ev'n in the stifling bosom of the town

A garden, in which nothing thrives, has charms,
That sooth the rich possessor; much consol'd,
That here and there some sprigs of mournful mint,
Of nightshade, or valerian, grace the well

He cultivates. These serve him with a hint,
That Nature lives; that sight-refreshing green
Is still the liv'ry she delights to wear,

Though sickly samples of th' exub'rant whole.
What are the casements lin'd with creeping herbs,
The prouder sashes 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, still retains
His inborn inextinguishable thirst
Of rural scenes, compensating his loss
By supplemental shifts, the best he may ?
The most unfurnish'd with the means of life,

Το

And they, that never pass their brick-wall bounds,
range the fields, and treat their lungs with air,
Yet feel the burning instinct: over head
Suspend their crazy boxes, planted thick,
And water'd duly. There the pitcher stands
A fragment, and the spoutless tea-pot there;
Sad witnesses how close-pent man regrets
The country, with what ardour he contrives
A peep at Nature, when he can no more.

* Mignonnette.

Hail, therefore, patroness of health and ease,
And contemplation, heart-consoling joys,
And harmless pleasures, in the throng'd abode
Of multitudes unknown; bail, rural iife!
Address himself who will to the pursuit
Of honours, or emolument, or fame;
I shall not add myself to such a chase,
Thwart his attempts, or envy his success.
Some must be great. Great offices will have
Great talents. And God gives to ev'ry man
The virtue, temper, understanding, taste,
That lifts him into life, and lets him fall
Just in the niche, he was ordain'd to fill.
To the deliv❜rer of an injur'd land

He gives a tongue t' enlarge upon, a heart
To feel, and courage to redress her wrongs;
To monarchs dignity; to judges sense;
To artists ingenuity and skill;

To me, an unambitious mind, content
In the low vale of life, that early felt

A wish for ease and leisure, and ere long
Found here that leisure and that ease I wish'd.