Diffolv'd in tranfport, fhe refign'd her breath, And gain'd a living conqueft by her death.

IN

the barn the tenant cock,
Clofe to Partlet perch'd on high,
Brifkly crows (the fhepherd's clock!)
Jocund that the morning's nigh.

II.

Swiftly from the mountain's brow,
Shadows, nurs'd by night, retire;
And the peeping fun-beam now
Paints with gold the village fpire:

III.

Philomel forfakes the thorn,

Plaintive where the prates at night;
And the lark, to meet the morn,
Soars beyond the fhepherd's fight.

IV.

From the low-roof'd cottage ridge,
See the chatt'ring fwallow fpring;
Darting through the one-arch'd bridge,
Quick the dips her dappled wing.

V.

Now the pine-tree's waving top
Gently greets the morning gale ;
Kidlings, now, begin to crop
Daifies on the dewy dale.

VI.

From the balmy sweet uncloy'd,
(Reftlefs, till her task be done)
Now the bufy bee's employ'd,
Sipping dew before the fun.

VII.

Trickling through the crevic'd rock,
Where the limpid ftream diftils,
Sweet refreshment waits the flock,
When 'tis fun-drove from the hills,

VIII.

Colin's for the promis'd corn

(Ere the harvest hopes are ripe) Anxious-while the huntfman's horn, Boldly founding, drowns his pipe.

IX.

Sweet-O fweet, the warbling throng
On the white embloffom'd (pray!
Nature's univerfal fong
Echoes to the rifing day.

NOON.

X.

FERVID on the glitt'ring flood,
Now the noontide radiance glows
Drooping o'er its infant bud,
Not a dew-drop's left the rofe.

XI.

By the brook the shepherd dines,
From the fierce meridian heat;
Shelter'd by the branching pines
Pendent o'er his graffy feat.

XII.

Now the flock forfakes the glade,

Where uncheck'd the fun-beams fall:

Sure to find a pleafing fhade,

By the ivy'd abbey wall,

XIII.

Echo in her airy round,

O'er the river, rock, and hill, Cannot catch a fingle found, Save the clack of yonder mill.

XIV.

Cattle court the zephyrs bland, Where the streamlet wanders cool Or with languid filence ftand Midway in the marshy pool.

XV.

But from mountain, dell, or ftream, Not a flutt'ring zephyr fprings, Fearful, left the noon-tide beam Scorch its foft, its filken wings.

XVI.

Not a leaf has leave to ftir,

Nature's lull'd-ferene-and ftill;

Quiet e'en the fhepherd's cur, Sleeping on the heath-clad hill..

XVII.

Languid is the landscape round, Till the fresh descending fhower, Grateful to the thirsty ground, Raifes ev'ry fainting flower.

C

XVIII.

Now the hill-the hedge-is green, Now the warbler's throat's in tune Blithfome is the vernal fcene, Brighten'd by the beams of noon!

EVENING.

XIX.

O'er the heath the heifer strays
Free;-(the furrow'd talk is done)
Now the village windows blaze,
Burnish'd by the fetting fun.

XX.

Now he fets behind the hill,
Sinking from a golden fky;
Can the pencil's mimic skill,
Copy the refulgent dye ?.

XXI.

Trudging as the plowmen go,
(To the fmoking hamlet bound)
Giant-like their fhadows grow,
Lengthen'd o'er the level ground.