Whether we fringe the sloping hill,
Or smooth below the verdant mead;
Whether we break the falling rill,

Or through meandering mazes lead;
Or in the horrid bramble's room
Bid careless groups of roses bloom,
Or let some shelter'd lake serene

Reflect flowers, woods, and spires, and brighten all the scene.

O sweet disposal of the rural hour!

O beauties never known to cloy!

[bower,

While Worth and Genius haunt the favour'd
And every gentle breast partakes the joy;
While Charity at eve surveys the swain,
Enabled by these toils to cheer
A train of helpless infants dear,

Speed whistling home across the plain ;
See vagrant Luxury, her handmaid grown,

For half her graceless deeds atone, [her own. And hails the bounteous work, and ranks it with

Why brand these pleasures with the name Of soft unsocial toils, of indolence and shame? Search but the garden or the wood,

Let yon admired carnation own

Not all was meant for raiment or for food,
Not all for needful use alone;

There, while the seeds of future blossoms dwell, "Tis colour'd for the sight, perfumed to please the smell.

Why knows the nightingale to sing?

Why flows the pine's nectareous juice? Why shines with paint the linnet's wing? For sustenance alone? for use?

For preservation? Every sphere

Shall bid fair Pleasure's rightful claim appear;
And sure there seem of humankind

Some born to shun the solemn strife;
Some for amusive tasks design'd,

To sooth the certain ills of life;

Grace its lone vales with many a budding rose, New founts of bliss disclose,

Call forth refreshing shades, and decorate repose.

From plains and woodlands, from the view
Of rural Nature's blooming face,

Smit with the glare of rapk and place,
To courts the sons of Fancy flew;
There long had Art ordain'd a rival seat,
There had she lavish'd all her care,
To form a scene more dazzling fair,
And call'd them from their green retreat,
To share her proud control;
Had given the robe with grace to flow,
Had taught exotic gems to glow;
And, emulous of Nature's power,
Mimic'd the plume, the leaf, the flower;
Changed the complexion's native hue,
Moulded each rustic limb anew,
And warp'd the very soul.

A while her magic strikes the novel eye,
A while the fairy forms delight;
And now aloof we seem to fly
On purple pinions through a purer sky,
Where all is wondrous, all is bright:

Now, landed on some spangled shore,
A while each dazzled maniac roves,

By sapphire lakes through emerald groves:
Paternal acres please no more;

Adieu! the simple, the sincere delight-
The' habitual scene of hill and dale,
The rural herds, the vernal gale,
The tangled vetch's purple bloom,

The fragrance of the bean's perfume,
Be theirs alone who cultivate the soil,
And drink the cup of thirst, and eat the bread of toil.

But soon the pageant fades away!
"Tis Nature only bears perpetual sway.
We pierce the counterfeit delight,
Fatigued with Splendour's irksome beams
Fancy again demands the sight

Of native groves and wonted streams;

Pants for the scenes that charm'd her youthful

eyes,

[Disguise. Where Truth maintains her court, and banishes

Then hither oft, ye senators! retire;

With Nature here high converse hold; For who like Stamford her delights admire, Like Stamford shall with scorn behold The' unequal bribes of pageantry and gold; Beneath the British oak's majestic shade Shall see fair Truth, immortal maid! Friendship in artless guise array'd,

Honour and moral beauty shine

With more attractive charms, with radiance more divine.

Yes, here alone did highest Heaven ordain
The lasting magazine of charms,
Whatever wins, whatever warms,
Whatever fancy seeks to share,
The great, the various, and the fair,
For ever should remain !

Her impulse nothing may restrain— Or whence the joy mid columns, towers, Midst all the city's artful trim, To rear some breathless vapid flowers, Or shrubs fuliginously grim? From rooms of silken foliage vain, To trace the dun far-distant grove, Where, smit with undissembled pain, The woodlark mourns her absent love, Borne to the dusty town from native air, To mimic rural life, and sooth some vapour'd fair?

But how must faithless Art prevail,
Should all who taste our joy sincere,
To virtue, truth, or science, dear,
Forego a court's alluring pale

For dimpled brook and leafy grove,

For that rich luxury of thought they love! Ah, no! from these the public sphere requires Example for its giddy bands;

From these impartial Heaven demands To spread the flame itself inspires;

To sift Opinion's mingled mass,

Impress a nation's taste, and bid the sterling pass.

Happy, thrice happy they,

Whose graceful deeds have exemplary shone
Round the gay precincts of a throne

1

With mild effective beams!
Who bands of fair ideas bring,
By solemn grot or shady spring,

To join their pleasing dreams!

Theirs is the rural bliss without alloy;

They only that deserve, enjoy.

What though nor fabled Dryad haunt their grove,
Nor Naiad near their fountains rove?

Yet all embodied to the mental sight,
A train of smiling Virtues bright
Shall there the wise retreat allow,

[brow.

Shall twine triumphant palms to deck the wanderer's

And though, by faithless friends alarm'd, Art have with Nature waged presumptuous war, By Seymour's winning influence charm'd, In whom their gifts united shine,

No longer shall their councils jar.
"Tis bers to mediate the peace;

Near Percy Lodge, with awe-struck mien,
The rebel seeks her lawful queen,

And havoc and contention cease.

I see the rival powers combine,
And aid each other's fair design;

Nature exalt the mound where Art shall build, Art shape the gay alcove, while Nature paints the field.

Begin, ye songsters of the grove!
O warble forth your noblest lay;
Where Somerset vouchsafes to rove,
Ye leverets! freely sport and play.
-Peace to the strepent horn!

Let no harsh dissonance disturb the morn,