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Of deeper green the elm; and deeper still,
Lord of the woods, the long-furviving oak.
Some gloffy-leav'd, and shining in the fun,
The maple, and the beech of oily nuts

Prolific, and the lime at dewy eve
Diffufing odours: nor unnoted pass
The sycamore, capricious in attire,
Now green, now tawny, and, ere autumn yet
Have chang'd the woods, in scarlet honours bright.
O'er these, but far beyond (a spacious map
Of hill and valley interpos'd between),
The Ouse, dividing the well-water'd land,
Now glitters in the fun, and now retires,
As bashful, yet impatient to be seen.

Hence the declivity is sharp and short,
And fuch the re-ascent; between them weeps
A little naiad her impov'rish'd urn
All fummer long, which winter fills again.
The folded gates would bar my progress now,
But that the lord of this enclos'd demesne,
Communicative of the good he owns,

* See the foregoing note.

Admits me to a share; the guiltless eye
Commits no wrong, nor wastes what it enjoys.
Refreshing change! where now the blazing sun?
By short transition we have lost his glare,
And stepp'd at once into a cooler clime.
Ye fallen avenues! once more I mourn
Your fate unmerited, once more rejoice
That yet a remnant of your race survives.
How airy and how light the graceful arch,
Yet awful as the confecrated roof
Re-echoing pious anthems! while beneath
The chequer'd earth seems restless as a flood
Brush'd by the wind. So sportive is the light
Shot through the boughs, it dances as they dance,
Shadow and sunshine intermingling quick,
And dark'ning and enlight'ning, as the leaves
Play wanton, ev'ry moment, ev'ry spot.

And now, with nerves new-brac'd and spirits cheer'd,

We tread the wilderness, whose well-roll'd walks, With curvature of flow and easy sweepDeception innocent-give ample space

To narrow bounds. The grove receives us next;

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Between the upright shafts of whose tall elms
We may difcern the thresher at his task.
Thump after thump resounds the conftant flail,
That seems to swing uncertain, and yet falls
Full on the destin'd ear. Wide flies the chaff.
The rustling straw sends up a frequent mist
Of atoms, sparkling in the noon-day beam.
Come hither, ye that press your beds of down,
And fleep not: fee him sweating o'er his bread
Before he eats it. - 'Tis the primal curse,
But foften'd into mercy; made the pledge
Of cheerful days, and nights without a groan.

By ceaseless action all that is fubfifts.
Conftant rotation of th' unwearied wheel
That nature rides upon maintains her health,
Her beauty, her fertility. She dreads

An instant's pause, and lives but while the moves.
Its own revolvency upholds the world.
Winds from all quarters agitate the air,
And fit the limpid element for use,

Elfe noxious: oceans, rivers, lakes, and streams,

All feel the fresh'ning impulse, and are cleans'd
By restless undulation: ev'n the oak

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Thrives by the rude concuffion of the storm:
He seems indeed indignant, and to feel
Th' impression of the blaft with proud difdain,
Frowning, as if in his unconscious arm

He held the thunder: but the monarch owes
His firm stability to what he scorns-
More fixt below, the more disturb'd above.
The law, by which all creatures else are bound,
Binds man the lord of all. Himself derives
No mean advantage from a kindred cause,
From ftrenuous toil his hours of sweetest eafe.
The fedentary stretch their lazy length
When custom bids, but no refreshment find,
For none they need: the languid eye, the cheek
Deferted of its bloom, the flaccid, shrunk,
And wither'd muscle, and the vapid foul,
Reproach their owner with that love of reft
To which he forfeits ev'n the rest he loves.
Not fuch th' alert and active. Meafure life
By its true worth, the comforts it affords,
And their's alone seems worthy of the name.
Good health, and, its associate in most,
Good temper; spirits prompt to undertake,
And not foon spent, though in an arduous task;

The pow'rs of fancy and ftrong thought are their's;
Ev'n age itself seems privileg'd in them,
With clear exemption from its own defects.
A sparkling eye beneath a wrinkled front
The vet'ran shows, and, gracing a gray beard
With youthful smiles, defcends toward the grave
Sprightly, and old almost without decay.

Like a coy maiden, ease, when courted moft, Fartheft retires-an idol, at whose shrine Who oft'nest sacrifice are favour'd leaft. The love of Nature, and the scenes she draws, Is Nature's dictate. Strange! there should be found, Who, self-imprison'd in their proud saloons, Renounce the odours of the open field For the unscented fictions of the loom; Who, fatisfied with only pencil'd scenes, Prefer to the performance of a God Th' inferior wonders of an artist's hand! Lovely indeed the mimic works of art ; But Nature's works far lovelier. I admireNone more admires-the painter's magic skill Who shows me that which I shall never fee, Conveys a distant country into mine,

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