« 前へ次へ »
* Frances Baughter o cobair, It Henry Skynne Son of Thomas Earl of Weymonth, Witze of Algerren Jeymour Bnke ifdmerset; and mother. + Eleva's k so 161 of Worte. and so well known in the publications of 11.74 Powe, taler le site et fonte
The of Conntess of
HILE orient skies restore the day,
And dew-drops catch the lucid ray;
Will aught the muse inspire ?
That drowns the sacred lyre !
Ye rural thanes that o'er the mosly down
Some panting, timorous hare pursue ;
Say, does she smoothe her lawns for
See from the neighbouring hill, forlorn
The wretched fwain your sport survey ;
He finds his labour'd crops a prey ;
Haply beneath your ravage bleed,
yet, ye swains, conclude That nature smiles for you alone; Your bounded souls, and your conceptions crude,
The proud, the selfish boast disown:
Nor ever the defenceless train
But tho' the various harvest gild your plains,
Does the mere landscape feast your eye?
Far other cause of glee supply?
The source of your delight profound,
genis profuse, Purpling a whole horizon round? Athirst ye praise the limpid stream, 'tis true :
But tho', the pebbled shores among,
It mimic no unpleasing song,
Unpleas'd ye see the thickets bloom,
Unmoy'd the mountain's airy pile,
O let a rural conscious muse,
Forth to the solemn oak you bring the fquare, And span the massy trunk, before you cry, 'tis fair.
Nor yet ye learn'd, nor yet ye courtly train ,
If haply from your haunts ye stray
Nor our untutor'd fenfe disdain :
To relish her supreme delight;
She, where she pleases kind or coy,
Then hither bring the fair ingenuous mind,
Or humble hare-bell paints the plain,
Or purple heath is ting’d in vain :
The mountain swells, the dale subsides;
With what suspicious fearful care
The sordid wretch secures his claim,
Should alienate the fields that wear his name !
Should litigate a span of earth! Bonds, contracts, feoffments, names unmeet for profe, The towering muse endures not to disclofe ;
Alas! her unrevers'd decree,
More comprehensive and more free,
Let gondolas their painted Aags unfold,
In nuptial fort, with bridal gold,
Ev'n Adria scorns the mock embrace,
Allotted, from his natal hour,
Enjoys the smile upon her face,
Enjoys triumphant every grace,