How fresh past pleasures dance before the mind, Renew'd in thought by winter's coming train, That now, like vapours on the broad-wing'd wind, Hafte to deface the beauty of the plain.

I fee, with memory's retrospective eye,

Each rivulet's polifh'd current fmoothly flow, See blithsome May hang pearly blossoms high, And richly dress the flowery meads below.

See nodding orchards wave their plumy pride,
See gardens grac'd with all the tints of spring,
Fnamell'd beds their tender foliage hide,
'Till genial funs a warmer season bring.

What fcenes can equal fummer's bright display,
When fwift Aurora drives her early car,
When glowing Phoebus gives the blushing day,
And fends his boundless influence wide and far.

How fweet to fee the flocks that crop their food,
And skip in wanton fport around the field,
Glad to present their bleating gratitude,

For the green pafture that the meadows yield.

To hear the wakeful fhepherd's homely strain,
Breathe welcome fonnets to the rofy beam,
While flumbering towns in leaden sleep remain,
And lofe fubftantial pleasures for a dream.

To tread betimes the neighbouring lanes, and view
(Ere fcorching heat rides on the noon-tide air)
The grafs, the trees, the vallies rob'd in dew,
And garden plants the liquid garment wear.

There oft at morn I tun'd the rural lay,
And with my Sylvia gently ftray'd along,
The birds fat mute on every leafy spray,
While liftening echo catch'd the flowing fong.

There filent mus'd on Shakespear's tragic page, Of Milton learn'd to fcale the azure road, Chanted Mæonides' poetic rage,

And read, O Pope! thy equal thoughts of God.

Admir'd

great Thomfon's active skilful mufe, That in fuch easy numbers scans the globe, Such lively colours Albion's spring renews, And paints the beauties of her vernal robe.

There, when the lark began her warbling fong,

And shook her pinions for the morning flight, Rais'd the loud chorus of the feather'd throng, And tower'd beyond the fartheft reach of fight.

The tuneful black-bird whiftling to his mate,
Far o'er the lonely forest thrill'd the note,
And cheerful linnets in the woods, elate,
Rejoin'd the melting mufic of his throat.

Our praise reap'd fervor from the general glow, The pious airs infpir'd the heavenly flame, The thrufh's plaint, the cattle's meaning low, With grateful joy our fwelling hearts o'ercame.

Nor less at eve the rural manfions please,

Or rural virtues charm th' exalted foul, Whose powers not yet enervated by ease,

Like Newton, grafp creation's ample whole;

In fearch of learning's gifts unwearied roam,
Th'illumin'd spaces of the milky way,
Traverse th' infinitude of nature's dome,

The earth, its fnow-top'd mountains, and the fea;

In every part

discover wisdom's hand,

Find Deity infcrib'd on all around, Omnipotence and love from ftrand to ftrand, Far as th' encircling ocean's utmost bound.

For fuch, O fpring! thy fragrant breezes blow, Thy new-born flowers expand the crimson leaf; Thy rays, O fummer! golden profpects show, And tinge the grain of Ceres' pointed sheaf.

For fuch, mild autumn rears the fhooting vines, Bids juicy clusters swarm the shaded wall, Enriching crops o'erhang her wheaten mines, And ripen'd fruits from bending branches fall.

To fuch, even winter's jarring winds convey,
The gladfome tidings of eternal peace:

And storms, and clouds, that others bliss allay
Their hope, their strength, their fortitude increase.

A FAREWELL TO THE COUNTRY.

A

WRITTEN THE MIDDLE OF OCTOBER.

Dieu! the pleafing rural scene,

Thick fhades and meadows fair and The field adorn'd with fheaves of corn, The walk at early hour of morn.

Behold! with green no meads are clad,
Behold the thrush fits mute and fad:
No lively fongiter's warbling throat
Pours joy, pours music in his note.

bed!

How bare, how naked feems yon
The pink is gone, the tulip dead:
Where is the gay, the odorous flower,
That lately blush'd in yonder bower?

So fade the glories of the year,
They bloffom fair, and disappear;
And (melancholy truth!) fond man!
Thy life's a flower, thy days a span!

green,

Almighty Sovereign, bounteous Power,
Whom every clime and tongue adore:
Whofe wisdom this vaft fyftem plann'd,
And form'd tne fea, and form'd the land;

Proftrate before thy throne we bow,
Parent of circling seasons Thou!
Haften far happier days—and bring
"One glorious and eternal spring!"

ON