Now fwarms the Village o'er the jovial Mead:
The ruftic Youth, brown with meridian Toil,
Healthful, and ftrong; full as the Summer-Rofe
Blown by prevailing Suns, the ruddy Maid,
Half naked, fwelling on the Sight, and all
Her kindled Graces burning o'er her Cheek.
Even stooping Age is here; and Infant-Hands
Trail the long Rake, or, with the fragrant Load
O'ercharg'd, amid the kind Oppreffion roll.
Wide flies the tedded Grain; all in a Row
Advancing broad, or wheeling round the Field,
They spread the breathing Harvest to the Sun,
That throws refreshful round a rural Smell:
Or, as they rake the green-appearing Ground,
And drive the dusky Wave along the Mead,
The ruffet Hay-cock rifes thick behind,
In order gay. While heard from Dale to Dale, 365 Waking the Breeze, refounds the blended Voice
Of happy Labour, Love, and focial Glee.
OR rushing thence, in one diffusive Band,
They drive the troubled Flocks, by many a Dog
Compell'd, to where the mazy-running Brook
Forms a deep Pool: this Bank abrupt and high,
And That fair-fpreading in a pebbled shore.
Urg'd to the giddy Brink, much is the Toil,
The Clamour much of Men, and Boys, and Dogs,
Ere the foft fearful People to the Flood
Commit their woolly Sides. And oft the Swain,
On fome impatient feizing, hurls them in:
Embolden'd then, nor hesitating more,
Faft, faft, they plunge amid the flashing Wave,
And panting labour to the farther Shore.
Repeated This, till deep the well-wash'd Fleece
Has drunk the Flood, and from his lively Haunt
The Trout is banish'd by the fordid Stream;
Heavy, and dripping, to the breezy Brow
Slow-move the harmless Race: where, as they spread
Their fwelling Treasures to the funny Ray,
* Inly disturb'd, and wondering what this wild
Outrageous Tumult means, their loud Complaints
The Country fill; and, tofs'd from Rock to Rock,
Inceffant Bleatings run around the Hills.
At laft, of fnowy White, the gather'd Flocks
Are in the wattled Pen innumerous prefs'd,
Head above Head; and, rang'd in lufty Rows,
The Shepherds fit, and whet the founding Shears.
The Housewife waits to roll her fleecy Stores,
With all her gay-dreft Maids attending round.
One, chief, in gracious Dignity inthron'd,
Shines o'er the Reft, the pastoral Queen, and rays
Her Smiles, fweet-beaming, on her Shepherd-King;
While the glad Circle round them yield their Souls 400
To feftive Mirth, and Wit that knows no Gall.
Meantime, their joyous Talk goes on apace:
Some mingling ftir the melted Tar, and Some,
Deep on the new-fhorn Vagrant's heaving Side,
To stamp his Master's Cipher ready stand;
Others th' unwilling Wether drag along,
And, glorying in his Might, the sturdy Boy
Holds by the twisted Horns th' indignant Ram.
Behold where bound, and of its Robe bereft,
By needy Man, that all-depending Lord,
How meek, how patient, the mild Creature lies!
What Softness in its melancholy Face,
What dumb complaining Innocence appears!
Fear not, ye gentle Tribes, 'tis not the Knife
Of horrid Slaughter that is o'er you wav'd;
No, 'tis the tender Swain's well-guided Shears,
Who having now, to pay his annual Care,
Borrow'd your Fleece, to you a cumbrous Load,
Will fend you bounding to your Hills again.
A fimple Scene! yet hence BRITANNIA fees Her folid Grandeur rife: hence the commands Th' exalted Stores of every brighter Clime, The Treasures of the Sun without his Rage: Hence, fervent all, with Culture, Toil, and Arts, Wide glows her Land: her dreadful Thunder hence 425 Rides o'er the Waves fublime, and now, even now, Impending hangs o'er Gallia's humbled Coaft, Hence rules the circling Deep, and awes the World.
'Tis raging Noon; and, vertical, the Sun
Darts on the Head direct his forceful Rays.
O'er Heaven and Earth, far as the ranging Eye
Can sweep, a dazling Deluge reigns; and all
From Pole to Pole is undiftinguifh'd Blaze.
In vain the Sight, dejected to the Ground,
Stoops for Relief; thence hot afcending Steams
And keen Reflection pain. Deep to the Root
Of Vegetation parch'd, the cleaving Fields
And flippery Lawn an arid Hue disclose,
Blaft Fancy's Blooms, and wither even the Soul,
Echo no more returns the chearful Sound
Of sharpening Scythe: the Mower finking heaps
O'er him the humid Hay, with Flowers perfum'd;
And scarce a chirping Grafs-hopper is heard
Thro the dumb Mead. Distressful Nature pants.
The very Streams look languid from afar;
Or, thro th' unfhelter'd Glade, impatient, feem
To hurl into the Covert of the Grove.
ALL-CONQUERING Heat, oh intermit thy Wrath! And on my throbbing Temples potent thus Beam not fo fierce! Inceffant ftill you flow, And still another fervent Flood fucceeds, Pour'd on the Head profufe. In vain I figh, And restless turn, and look around for Night; Night is far off; and hotter Hours approach.
Thrice happy he! who on the funless fide
Of a romantic Mountain, foreft-crown'd,
Beneath the whole collected Shade reclines:
Or in the gelid Caverns, woodbine-wrought,
And fresh bedew'd with ever-spouting Streams,
Sits coolly calm; while all the World without,
Unfatisfy'd, and fick, toffes in Noon.
Emblem inftructive of the virtuous Man,
Who keeps his temper'd Mind ferene, and pure,
And every Paffion aptly harmoniz'd,
Amid a jarring World with Vice inflam’d.
WELCOME, ye Shades! ye bowery Thickets, hail!
Ye lofty Pines! ye venerable Oaks!
Ye Ashes wild, refounding o'er the Steep!
Delicious is your Shelter to the Soul,
As to the hunted Hart the fallying Spring,
Or Stream full-flowing, that his fwelling Sides.
Laves, as he floats along the herbag'd Brink.
Cool, thro' the Nerves, your pleafing Comfort glides;
The Heart beats glad; the fresh-expanded Eye
And Ear refume their watch; the Sinews knit ;
And Life shoots fwift thro all the lighten'd Limbs.
AROUND th' adjoining Brook, that purls along
The vocal Grove, now fretting o'er a Rock,
Now scarcely moving thro a reedy Pool,
Now starting to a fudden Stream, and now
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