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When heifers seek the shade and cooling lake, 55
And in the middle path-way basks the snake;
lead me, guard me from the sultry hours,
Hide me, ye forests, in your closest bow'rs :
Where the tall oak his spreading arms entwines,
And with the beech a mutual shade combines ;
Where flows the murm'ring brook, inviting dreams,
Where brid'ring hazle overhangs the streams,
Whose rolling current winding round and round,
With frequent falls makes all the wood resound;
Upon the mossy couch my limbs I caft,
And ev'n at noon the sweets of ev'ning tafte.
Here I perufe the Mantuan's Georgic strains,
And learn the labours of Italian swains ;
In ev'ry page I see new landschapes rife,
And all Hesperia opens to my eyes.
I wander o'er the various rural toil,
And know the nature of each diff'rent foil :
This waving field is gilded o’er with corn,
That spreading trees with blushing fruit adorn:
Here I survey the purple vintage grow,
Climb round the poles, and rise in graceful row:
Now I behold the Ateed curvet and bound,
And paw with restless hoof the smoking ground:
The dewlap'd bull now chafes along the plain,
While burning love ferments in ev'ry vein ;
His well-arm'd front against his rival aims,
And by the dint of war his mistress claims :
The careful insect ʼmidst his works I view,
Now from the flow'rs exhauft the fragrant dew;
With golden Treasures loads his little thighs,
And steer his diftant journey through the skies;
Some against hostile drones the hive defend;
Others with sweets the waxen cells diftend:
Each in the toil his deftin'd office bears,
And in the little bulk a mighty soul appears.
Or when the ploughman leaves the task of day,
And trudging homeward whistles on the way;
When the big-udder'd cows with patience stand,
Waiting the stroakings of the damsel's hand,
No warbling chears the woods; the feather'd choir, 95
To court kind slumbers to their sprays retire ;
When no rude gale difturbs the sleeping trees,
Nor aspen leaves confess the gentleft breeze ;
Engag'd in thought, to Neptune's bounds I ftray,
To take my farewel of the parting day ;
Far in the deep the sun his glory hides,
A ftreak of gold the sea and sky divides ;
The purple clouds their amber linings show,
And edg'd with flame rolls ev'ry wave below:
Here penfive I behold the fading light,
And o'er the distant billow lose my fight.
Now night in filent state begins to rise,
And twinkling orbs bestrow th' uncloudy kies ;.
Her borrow'd luftre growing Cynthia lends,
And on the main a glitt'ring path extends ;.
Millions of worlds hang in the spacious air,
Which round their funs their annual circles steer.
Sweet contemplation elevates my sense,
While I furvey the works of providence.
O could the mufe in loftier strains rehearse, 115:
The glorious author of the universe,
Who reins the winds, gives the vast ocean bounds,
And circumscribes the floating worlds their rounds.
My soul should overflow in songs of praise,
And my Creator's name inspire my lays !
As in successive course the seasons roll, .
So circling pleasures recreate the soul..
When genial spring a living warmth bestows, . ,
And o'er the year her verdant mantle throws, ,
No swelling inundation hides the grounds,
But crystal currents glide within their bounds ;
The finny brood their wonted haunts forsake, -
Float in the sun, and skim along the lake,
With frequent leap they range the shallow streams,".
Their silver coats reflect the dazling beams. 130:1
Now let the fisherman his toils prepare,
And arm himself with ev'ry watry snare; ,
His hooks, his lines per use with careful eye,
Increase his tackle, and his rod retye.
When floating clouds their spongy fleeces drain, 1355 Troubling the streams with swift descending rain, And waters tumbling down the mountain's fide, Bear the loose soil into the swelling tide; Then, soon as vernal gales begin to rise, And drive the liquid burden thro' the kies,
140 The fisher to the neighb'ring current speeds, Whose rapid surface purles unknown to weeds ;
Upon a rising border of the brook
He fits him down, and ties the treach'rous hook:
Now expectation chears his eager thought, 145
His bofom glows with treasures yet uncaught,
Before his eyes a banquet seems to stand,
Where ev'ry guest applauds his skilful hand.
Far the Stream the twisted hair he throws,
Which down the murm'ring current gently flows; 150
When if or chance or hunger's pow'rful sway,
Directs the roving trout this fatal way.
He greedily fucks in the twining bait,
And tugs and nibbles the fallacious meat :
Now, happy fisherman, now twitch the line !
How thy rod bends! behold, the prize is thine !
Caft on the bank, he dies with gasping pains,
And trickling blood his filver mail diftains.
You must not ev'ry worm promiscuous use, Judgment will tell thee proper bait to chufe; The worm that draws a long immod'rate size The trout abhors, and the rank morsel flies; And if too small, the naked fraud's in fight, And fear forbids, while hunger does invite.