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Hay-making.

The springing trout in fpeckled pride;
The falmon, monarch of the tide;
The ruthless pike, intent on war;
The filver eel, and mottled par.
Devolving from their parent lake,
A charming maze thy waters make,
By bowers of birch, and groves of pine,
And hedges flower'd with eglantine.
Still on thy banks so gaily green

May num'rous herds and flocks be seen,
And laffes chanting o'er the pail,
And fhepherds piping in the dale,
And antient faith that knows no guile,
And industry embrown'd with toil,
And hearts refolved, and hands prepared,
The bleffings they enjoy to guard!

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SMOLLET.

HAY-MAKING.

WHEN the fresh spring in all her state is crown'd, And high luxuriant grafs o'erfpreads the ground, The lab'rer with the bending fcythe is seen, Shaving the furface of the waving green,

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Of all her native pride difrobes the land,
And meads lays wafte before his fweeping hand;
While with the mounting fun the meadow glows,
The fading herbage round he loosely throws.
But if fome fign portend a lafting shower,
Th' experienc'd swain foresees the coming hour;
His funburnt hands the fcatt'ring fork forfake,
And ruddy damfels ply the faving rake;
In rifing hills the fragrant harvest grows,
And spreads along the field in equal rows.

1

GAY.

NOON.

WHEN heifers feek the fhade and cooling lake,
And in the middle pathway basks the fnake;
O lead me, guard me, from the fultry hours!
Hide me, ye forefts, in your closest bowers!
Where the tall oak his spreading arms entwines,
And with the beech a mutual fhade combines;
Where flows the murm'ring brook, inviting
dreams,

Where bordering hazel overhangs the ftreams,

Whofe

To a Hedge-Sparrow.

75

Whofe rolling current winding round and round, With frequent falls makes all the wood refound; Upon the moify couch my limbs I cast,

And e'en at noon the sweets of ev'ning taste.

TO A HEDGE-SPARROW.

LITTLE flutt'rer! swiftly flying,
Here is none to harm thee near;
Kite nor hawk, nor school-boy prying;
Little flutt'rer! cease to fear.

One who would protect thee ever
From the school-boy, kite and hawk,
Mufing, now obtrudes, but never
Dreamt of plunder in his walk.

He no weafel ftealing flily

Would permit thy eggs to take; Nor the pole-cat, nor the wily Adder, nor the writhed fnake.

May no cuckow wandering near thee
Lay her egg within thy nest,

Nor thy young ones, born to cheer thee,
Be deftroy'd by fuch a guest!

H 2

GAY.

Little

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The Approach of a Storm.

Little flutt'rer! fwiftly flying,

Here is none to harm thee near;

Kite nor hawk, nor fchool-boy prying;

Little flutt'rer! cease to fear.

ANTHOLOGY.

THE APPROACH OF A STORM.

ERE yet the rifing winds begin to roar,
The working feas advance to wash the shore:
Soft whispers run along the leafy woods,

And mountains whistle to the murm'ring floods :
Ev'n then the doubtful billows fcarce abftain
From the toft veffel on the troubled main,
When crying cormorants forfake the fea,
And stretching to the covert wing their way;
When fportful coots run skimming o'er the strand;
When watchful herons leave their watʼry stand,
And, mounting upward with erected flight,
Gain on the skies and foar above the fight.
And oft before tempeftuous winds arife,
The seeming ftars fall headlong from the skies,
And, fhooting thro' the darkness, gild the night
With fweeping glories and long trails of light:

And

The Huntsman.

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And chaff with eddy winds is whirl'd around,
And dancing leaves are lifted from the ground;
And floating feathers on the waters play.
But when the winged thunder takes his way
From the cold north, and east and weft engage,
And at their frontiers meet with equal rage,
The clouds are crufh'd, a flood of gather'd rain
The hollow ditches fills, and floats the plain,
And failors furl their dropping sheets amain.

DRYDEN.

THE HUNTSMAN.

THE huntsman with merry-ton'd horn
Bids valleys and mountains resound,
And early goes out in the morn

To chace the fleet hare o'er the ground:

With him through thick woodlands I fly,
Through dangers, wild rivers, and rocks
While mufical hounds in full cry
Run fwift in purfuit of the fox.

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