v. 27. Euston in Suffolk, and its neighbourhood, the Scene.

"Twas thus with Giles: meek, fatherless, and poor:

Labour his portion, but he felt no more;

No stripes, no tyranny his steps pursu'd;

His life was constant, cheerful, servitude:
Strange to the world, he wore a bashful look,
The fields his study, Nature was his book;
And, as revolving SEASONS chang'd the scene
From heat to cold, tempestuous to serene,
Though every change still varied his employ,
Yet each new duty brought its share of joy.

Where noble GRAFTON spreads his rich domains,
Round Euston's water'd vale, and sloping plains,
Where woods and groves in solemn grandeur rise,
Where the kite brooding unmolested flies;
The woodcock and the painted pheasant race,
And sculking Foxes, destin'd for the chase;
There Giles, untaught and unrepining, stray'd
'Through every copse, and grove, and winding glade ;

Benevolent character of Giles's Master....Spring begins. v.45.

There his first thoughts to Nature's charms inclin'd,

That stamps devotion on th' inquiring mind.

A little farm his generous Master till'd,
Who with peculiar grace his station fill'd;
By deeds of hospitality endear'd,

Serv'd from affection, for his worth rever'd;

A happy offspring blest his plenteous board,
His fields were fruitful, and his barns well stor❜d,
And fourscore ewes he fed, a sturdy team,

And lowing kine that graz'd beside the stream:
Unceasing industry he kept in view;

And never lack'd a job for Giles to do.

Fled now the sullen murmurs of the North,

The splendid raiment of the SPRING peeps forth;
Her universal green, and the clear sky,

Delight still more and more the gazing eye.
Wide o'er the fields, in rising moisture strong,
Shoots up the simple flower, or creeps along

v. 63.

Giles goes out to plow.

The mellow'd soil; imbibing fairer hues,

Or sweets from frequent showers and evening dews;
That summon from their sheds the slumb'ring plows,
While health impregnates every breeze that blows.
No wheels support the diving, pointed, share ;
No groaning ox is doom'd to labour there;
No helpmates teach the docile steed his road;
(Alike unknown the plough-boy and the goad;)
But, unassisted through each toilsome day,
With smiling brow the ploughman cleaves his way,
Draws his fresh parallels, and, wid'ning still,

Treads slow the heavy dale, or climbs the hill:

Strong on the wing his busy followers play,

Where writhing earth-worms meet th' unwelcome day; Till all is chang'd, and hill and level down

Assume a livery of sober brown:

Again disturb'd, when Giles with wearying strides

From ridge to ridge the ponderous harrow guides;

Harrowing....Giles and his Horses rest.

v. 81.

His heels deep sinking every step he goes,

Till dirt adhesive loads his clouted shoes.

Welcome green headland! firm beneath his feet;
Welcome the friendly bank's refreshing seat;
There, warm with toil, his panting horses browse
Their shelt'ring canopy of pendent boughs;
Till rest, delicious, chase each transient pain,
And new-born vigour swell in every vein.
Hour after hour, and day to day succeeds;
Till every clod and deep-drawn furrow spreads
To crumbling mould; a level surface clear,
And strew'd with corn to crown the rising year;
And o'er the whole Giles once transverse again,
In earth's moist bosom buries up the grain.
The work is done; no more to man is given;
The grateful Farmer trusts the rest to Heaven.
Yet oft with anxious heart he looks around,

And marks the first green blade that breaks the ground: