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Cafts a long look where England's glories thine,
Vain, very vain, my weary search, to find
Swiftly from the mountain's brow,
Shadows, nurs'd by night, retire; And the peeping fun-beam, now,
Paints with gold the village spire.
Philomel forsakes the thorn,
Plaintive where she prates at night ; And the lark, to meet the morn,
Soars beyond the shepherd's sight.
From the low-roof'd cottage ridge,
See the chatt'ring swallow spring; Darting through the one-arch'd bridge,
Quick she dips her dappled wing.
Now the pine-tree's waving top
Gently greets the morning gale ; Kidlings, now, begin to crop
Daisies, on the dewy dale.
From the balmy sweets, uncloy'd,
(Restless till her task be done) Now the busy bee's employ'd,
Sipping dew before the fun.
Trickling through the crevic'd rock,
Where the limpid stream distils, Sweet refreshment waits the flock,
When 'tis fun-drove from the hills.
Colin's for the promis'd corn
(Ere the harvest hopes are ripe) Anxious ;-whilst the huntsman's horn,
Boldly founding, drowns his pipe.
Trudging as the ploughmen go,
(To the smoaking hamlet bound) Giant-like their shadows grow,
Lengthen'd o'er the level ground.
Where the rising forest spreads
Shelter for the lordly dome! To their high-built airy beds,
See the rooks returning home!
As the lark, with vary'd tune,
Carols to the evening loud; Mark the mild resplendent moon,
Breaking through a parted cloud!
Now the hermit howlet
peeps From the barn or twisted brake; And the blue mift slowly creeps,
Curling on the filver lake.
As the trout in fpeckled pride,
Playful from it's bofom springs ; To the banks, a ruffled tide
Verges in successive rings.
Tripping through the filken grass,
O'er the path-divided dale, Mark the rose-complexion'd lass
With her well-pois'd milking pail !
Linnets with unnumber'd notes,
And the cuckow-bird with two, Tuning sweet their mellow throats,
Bid the setting sun adieu.