The distant plough slow moving, and beside Here Ouse, slow winding through a level plain Of hedge-row beauties numberless,-square tower, A SKETCH. Cowper. THE rush-thatch'd cottage on the purple moor, As with quick foot he climbs some ruin'd wall, THE EVENING WALK. Darwin. But see, the setting sun Puts on a milder countenance, and skirts And his broad disk, though fervent, not intense, The clear cerulean prospect down the vale. Happy the man, who truly loves his home, And never wanders farther from his door Than we have gone to-day; who feels his heart Still drawing homeward, and delights, like us, Once more to rest his foot on his own threshold.-Hurdis. |