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Fatigu'd with form's oppreslive laws,
When Somerset avoids the great ;
She seeks the rural calın retreat ;
Which genius grac'd with rank obtains,
To crop the primrose of the plains ?
Ah can fhe covet there to see
That oil the tongue, and bow the knee,
Far happier, if aright I deem,
To where the lonely halcyons play,
Likens the swain's inglorious day;
O blind to truth, to virtue blind,
Should fame’s wide-echoing trumpet swell;
with rapture dwell; The vaunted sweets of praise remove,
Yet shall such bofoms claim a part
In all that glads the human heart; Yet these the spirits, form'à tojudge and prove slove. All nature's charms immense, and heaven's unbounded
And oh! the transport, most ally'd to song,
In some fair villa's peaceful bound,
And bid ARCADIA bloom around :
Or smoothe below the verdant mead;
Or thro' meandering mazes lead;
[scene. Reflect Aow'rs, woods and spires, and brighten all the
O sweet disposal of the rural hour!
O beauties never known to cloy! While worth and genius haunt the favour'd bow'r,
And every gentle breast partakes the joy !
Enabled by these toils to chear
Speed whistling home across the plain;
For half her graceless deeds atone, (own. And hails the bounteous work, and ranks it with her
Why brand these pleasures with the name
Search but the garden, or the wood,
admir'd carnation own,
Not all for needful ufe alone; There while the feeds of future blofsoms dwell, 'Tis colour’d for the sight, perfum'd to please the smell.
Why knows the nightingale to sing ?
Why Rows the pine's nectareous juice ?
For sustenance alone ? for use ?
And sure there seem, of human kind,
Some born to fhun the folemn strife;
To soothe the certain ills of life
New founts of bliss disclose,
From plains and woodlands ; from the view
Of rural nature's blooming face,
Smit with the glare of rank and place,
There had she lavish'd all her care
To form a scene more dazling fair,
To share her proud controul ;
And emulous of nature's pow'r,
Mimick’d the plume, the leaf, the flow'r ; Chang’d the complexion's native hue, Moulded each rustic limb anew,
And warp'd the very foul l
Awhile her magic strikes the novel eye,
Awhile the faery forms delight;
And now aloof we seem to fly On purple pinions thro' a purer lky,
Where all is wonderous, all is bright:
Awhile each dazled maniac roves
Th’ habitual scene of hill and dale,
The fragrance of the bean's perfume,
But soon the pageant fades away!
We pierce the counterfeit delight,
Of native groves, and wonted streams,
Then hither oft ye senators retire,
With nature here high converse hold;
Like STAMFORD shall with scorn behold