The modeft maiden rifes from her wheel,
Who, unperceiv'd, a filent look would steal;
Call'd, the attends, affifts with artless grace,
The bloom of nature flushing on her face,
That scorns the dye which pallid pride can lend,
And all the arts which luxury attend.

With fuel laden from the brambly rock,
Lo! forward comes the father of his flock,
Of honeft front-falutes with ruftick gait,
Remarks our fare, and boasts his former state,
When many a cow, nor long the time remov'd,
And many a calf his fpacious pafture rov'd,
Till rifing rents reduc'd them now to three,
Abridg'd his farm, and fix'd him as we fee:
Yet thanks his God, what fails him in his wealth,
He feeks from labour, and he gains from health.
Then talks of sport; how many wild-ducks feen!
What flocks of widgeon, too, had fledg'd the green!
Till ev'ry prentice dar'd the city fhun,

Range the wide field, and lift the level gun.
While thus amus'd, and gladden'd with our lot,
The hafty ev'ning calls us from the cot;
A fmall gratuity dilates their heart,
And many a bleffing follows as we part.
Nor you, ye proud! difdain their state to hear,
The state of nature crowns their frugal cheer;
Tranfmitted pure from patriarchal times,
By art unfashion'd to corruption's climes-
To you unknown their labours and their race,
Alike unknown their innocence and peace :
Secure from danger, as remov'd from fame,
Their lives calm current flows without a name.
With limbs refresh'd, with lively tales and gay,
We homeward hafte, and guile the tedious way;
Each object view in wint'ry dress around,

And eye the dogs that wanton o'er the ground;

The

The penfive red-breaft on the leafless bough,
And juft beneath, the fragrance-breathing cow;
While ftill more grateful, with her cleanly pail,
The ruddy milk-maid hears a tender tale

From the lov'd fwain, who fwells th' alternate figh,
Leans on his staff, and lures her fide-long eye,
With artless guife, his paffion to impart,

With looks that speak the language of his heart-
Her's was the sweetness of the milk fhe prefs'd,
And his the fervour of the fweets carefs'd:
A Daphne fhe, with rural grace attir'd,
A Damon he, with faithful love infpir'd.
Thrice happy pair! whom guiltless joys adorn,
Pure as the eve, and conftant as the morn;
No pride-born cares, to fruftrate or controul
Your mutual vows refponfive to the foul,
Till facred Hymen binds the nuptial band,
And blends your lives, a bleffing to the land!
Hence Contemplation lifts the internal eye,
Fix'd on the love of Providence on high,
That ftill impartial thro' the world extends
In bounteous bleffings vary'd to their ends;
From the rich Urkain to Siberia's fnow,
Adapted fweets in ev'ry climate grow ;
The rude Tongufian, quiver'd for the chace,
Feels joys unknown to Perfia's fplendid race;
Thro' wilds immenfe purfues the favage brood,
At once his pride, his raiment, and his food;
No diff'rence proves, but what from fancy springs,
'Twixt tented Tartars, and empalac'd kings.

But foon the vifionary fcene withdraws,
And active sports folicit new applause,
For yonder come-yet diftant to the eye,
The vagrant plover wafted thro' the sky;
Swift to the hedge, on diff'rent fides we run,
That skirt the copfe, and hide the deadly gun;

Onward

Onward they move, regardless of their state,
A fingle guide conducts them to their fate;
The fudden thunder bursts upon their head,
The foremost fall, and all the reft are fled.

Thus, where it's forefts Niagara fpreads,
And wild Ofwego all it's horror fheds,
The fons of Britain march'd in vent'rous pride,
No foe to front them, and no caution guide,
Till ev'ry tree with hidden rage confpires,
And ev'ry fhrub emits deftructive fires.

What could they do; or where the vengeance fly?
They wheel-they drop-and all or run or die:
The gun, relentlefs, no compaffion fhews,
And no respect of diff'rent objects knows;
Alike regardless, when it's fury's stirr'd,
Of man or beaft-a Braddock, or a bird.

But while I thus it's dire effects attend,
'Tis man alone must answer for the end.
The gun, like riches, claims no genuine use,
But just as rul'd, will good or bad produce;
Whether it rolls the raging tide of war,
Or only frights the tenants of the air;
For empire levell'd, or for health carefs'd,
The motive, not the mean, is curs'd or blefs'd.
Now had the twilight, veil'd in gloomy grey,
Mourn'd the departure of retiring day;

A darker hue the face of nature wears,
And scarce diftin&t the distant town appears-
Back to our mind, in fwift fucceffion throng,
(To cheat the time and steal the road along)
The various sports of all the fummer past,
When ling'ring, long-vacation, came at last;
Imagination fondly sports to tell,

How many groufe! how many partridge fell!

And

1

And quick tranfports me, gladden'd as I go,
Where the proud Gaulties * lift their awful brow.
Oft did I there with lively spirits run,

Mount on their back. to meet the rifing fun;
When toiling, panting, labour-spent, and flow,
I ftopp'd to breathe-and view'd the plains below:
And thee, dear village +! loveliest of the clime,
(Fain would I name thee, but I can't in rhyme)
Where first my years in youthful pleasures 'pass'd,
And where in age I hope to die at last ;
Fain would I dwell upon thy native charms,
Thy verdant hills and cultivated farms-
But fudden rouz'd, I fee the pointers wind,
My brother sportsmen preffing close behind;
The grumbling heath-cock feels an inftant wound,
Adown he falls, and whirs against the ground-
Again, methinks I fee the fervice spread,
The cold provifions on the cakes of bread †,
The mountain ftream, of babbling accents nigh,
My couch the heath, my canopy the sky:

Eneas-like, I eagerly devour

The plates themselves the quarter'd cakes of flour;

Like him arife new conquefts to purfue,

Then end my toil, and tell of all I knew,

So at the clofe of toilfome, hardy life, The vet'ran foldier brags of glorious ftrife;

What dangers paft, what cities he had feen,

What battles fought, when thousands ftrew'd the green;

* A range of mountains in the county of Tipperary.

+ Tipperary.

-Adorea liba per herbam

Subjiciunt epulis, &c.

VIR. EN. vii. 110.

-Malifq. audacibus orbem

Fatalis crufti, patulis nec parcere quadris ;

Heus? etiam Menfas confumimus inquit fülus. VIR. Æn. vii. 110.

Till fancy-warm'd he seems to fight them o'er,
And tir'd at laft, he braves and boasts no more.

Blefs'd with the view of Stephen's Green at last,
Amufive fancy paints it's pleasures paft;
Where fhady walks entice the noon-tide gale,
And whifp'ring lovers foftly-fighing tale;
The ogling belle, the pert and powder'd beau,
And dame delighted pretty Mifs to fhew;
The trader trim, that ftruts with vacant air
To catch the breeze, or captivate the fair-
But now no more Florillus glads the green,
Lucinda's gone, and defolate's the scene.

The rifing moon, with delegated fway,
Supplies the radiance of the distant day,
Reveals the various objects that we meet,
And all the busy tumults of the street:
With headlong pace the vagrant hawker fcours,
And bloody news from lungs horrifick pours;
The dull, difcordant ballad-notes annoy,

That mock the crowd with Love's fantastick joy;

The cumb'rous coach, with blazon'd pomp, that shews
Where pamper'd pride, and indolence repofe ;
While close behind, the fhiv'ring female ftrays,
Parted from virtue, innocence, and ease.

She, once the darling of her mother's arms,

Her father's pride, and blefs'd with blooming charms,

Thro' all the village known for fpotless fame;

Fair was her beauty, fairer ftill her name:

Till the fly tempter urg'd infidious suit,
And lur'd her weakness to forbidden fruit.
There perish'd grace, her guardian honour fled,
And fad remembrance mourns each bleffing-dead!

Expell'd the paradife of native fway,

She wanders now to ev'ry vice a prey

prey to yonder terror of the night,

(Avert, ye gods! fuch monfters from my fight!)