Of all her native pride disrobes the land,

And meads lays waste before his sweeping hand;
While with the mounting sun y m
meadow glows,

The fading herbage round he loosely throws;
But if some sign portend a lasting show'r,
Th' experienc'd swain foresees the coming hour,
His sunburnt hands the scatt'ring fork forsake,
And ruddy damsels ply the saving rake;

In ri ing hills the fragrant harvest grows,
And spreads along the field in equal rows.

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Now when the height of heav'n bright Phoebus gains,
And level rays cleave wide the thirsty plains,
When heifers seek the shade and cooling lake,
And in the middle pathway basks the snake,
O lead me, guard me from the sultry hours!
Hide me, ye Forests! in your closest bow'rs:
Where the tall oak his spreading arms entwines,
And with the beech a mutual shade combines;
Where flows the murm'ring brook, inviting dreams,
Where bord'ring hazel overhangs the streams,
Whose rolling current winding round and round,
With frequent falls makes all the wood resound,
Upon the mossy couch my limbs I cast,
And ev❜n at noon the sweets of ev'ning taste.
Here I peruse the Mantuan's Georgic strains,
And learn the labours of Italian swains;
In ev'ry page I see new landscapes rise,

And all Hesperia opens to my eyes.

I wander o'er the various rural toil,

And know the nature of each different soil:
This waving field isn Aded o'er with corn,
That spreading trees with blushing fruit adorn:
Here I survey the purple vintage grow,

Climb round the poles, and rise in graceful row:
Now I behold the steed curvet and bound,

And paw with restless hoof the smoking ground:
The dew-lap'd bull now chafes along the plain,
While burning love ferments in ev'ry vein;
His well-arm'd front against his rival aims,
And by the dint of war his mistress claims:
The careful insect 'midst his works I view,
Now from the flow'rs exhaust the fragrant dew;
With golden treasures load his little thighs,
And steer his distant journey through the skies;
Some against hostile drones the hive defend,
Others with sweets the waxen cells distend:
Each in the toil his destin'd office bears,
And in the little bulk a mighty soul appears.

Or when the ploughman leaves the task of day,
And, trudging homeward, whistles on the way;
When the big-udder'd cows with patience stand
Waiting the strokings of the damsel's hand;
No warbling cheers the woods; the feather'd choir
To court kind slumbers to their sprays retire;
When no rude gale disturbs the sleeping trees,
Nor aspen leaves confess the gentlest breeze;

Engag'd in thought, to Neptune's bounds I stray,
To take my farewell of the parting day;
Far in the deep the sun his glory hides,
A streak of gold the sea and sky divides;
The purple clouds their amber linings show,
And edg'd with flame rolls ev'ry wave below;
Here pensive I behold the fading light,
And o'er the distant billow lose my sight.

Now Night in silent state begins to rise,
And twinkling orbs bestrow th' uncloudy skies;
Her borrow'd lustre growing Cynthia lends,
And on the main a glitt'ring path extends;

Millions of worlds hang in the spacious air,
Which round their suns their annual circle steer;
Sweet contemplation elevates my sense,
While I survey the works of Providence.
O could the Muse in loftier strains rehearse
The glorious Author of the universe,

Who reins the winds, gives the vast ocean bounds, And circumscribes the floating worlds their rounds, My soul should overflow in songs of praise,

And my Creator's name inspire my lays!

As in successive course the seasons roll,
So circling pleasures re-create the soul;
When genial Spring a living warmth bestows,
And o'er the year her verdant mantle throws,
No swelling inundation hides the grounds,
But crystal currents glide within their bounds;
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The finny brood their wonted haunts forsake,

Float in the sun, and skim along the lake;

With frequent leap they range the shallow streams,
Their silver coats reflect the dazzling beams:

Now let the fisherman his toils prepare,

And arm himself with ev'ry wat'ry snare;
His hooks, his lines, peruse with careful eye,
Increase his tackle, and his rod retie.

When floating clouds their spongy fleeces drain,
Troubling the streams with swift-descending rain,
And waters, tumbling down the mountain's side,
Bear the loose soil into the swelling tide,
Then, soon as vernal gales begin to rise,

And drive the liquid burden thro' the skies,
The fisher to the neighb'ring current speeds,
Whose rapid surface purls, unknown to weeds;
Upon a rising border of the brook

He sits him down, and ties the treach'rous hook;
Now expectation cheers his eager thought,
His bosom glows with treasures yet uncaught;
Before his eyes a banquet seems to stand,
Where ev'ry guest applauds his skilful hand.

Far up the stream the twisted hair he throws,
Which down the murm'ring current gently flows;
When if or chance or hunger's pow'rful sway
Directs the roving trout this fatal way,
He greedily sucks in the twining bait,
And tugs and nibbles the fallacious meat:

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Now, happy Fisherman! now twitch the line!
How thy rod bends! behold, the prize is thine!
Cast on the bank, he dies with gasping pains,
And trickling blood his silver mail distains.

You must not ev'ry worm promiscuos use;
Judgment will tell thee proper bait to chuse ;
The worm that draws a long immodʼrate size
The trout abhors, and the rank morsel flies;
And if too small, the naked fraud's in sight,
And fear forbids, while hunger does invite.
Those baits will best reward the fisher's pains,
Whose polish'd tails a shining yellow stains:
Cleanse them from filth, to give a tempting gloss,
Cherish the sully'd reptile race with moss';
Amid the verdant bed they twine, they toil,
And from their bodies wipe their native soil.

But when the sun displays his glorious beams,
And shallow rivers flow with silver streams,
Then the deceit the scaly breed survey,
Bask in the sun, and look into the day:
You now a more delusive art must try,
And tempt their hunger with the curious fly.
To frame the little animal, provide

All the gay hues that wait on female pride:
Let Nature guide thee; sometimes golden wire
The shining bellies of the fly require;
The peacock's plumes thy tackle must not fail,
Nor the dear purchase of the sable's tail.

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