Till, high on.airy neft reclin'd,
The raven wakes my tranced mind!
Or to the copfe, where hazels brown With beech and tow'ring oak o'ergrown, Some fecret winding path o'erfhade By Fauns, and tripping Dryads made. Or to yon abbey's mould'ring ifles, Faft by whofe elder-crowned piles, Many a melancholy yew High-wreaths an awful avenue. Or to the forreft-fringed vale Where widow'd turtles love to wail, Where cowflips clad in mantle meek, Nod their tall heads to breezes weak While o'er the folitary green, Nor cott, nor wand'ring swain is feen : There under fhade of aged boughs
To find fome hermit's turf-rear'd houfe; Fit place that penfive fage might chufe On virtue's holy lore to mufe.
But when mild Morn in faffron ftole First iffues from her eaftern goal; Then fnatch me, crocus-crowned Queen, To airy uplands clad in green : Whence nature's univerfal face, Illumin'd fmiles with new-born grace; The misty freams that wind below, With filver-fhining luftre glow;
Tow'rs, groves, and villages appear
Invested all in radiance clear;
Refrefhful odors breathe around
From dews that whiten all the ground;
Echoing loud o'er hill and dale,
Glad birds the glistening funshine hail;
CONTENT, indulging blissful hours,
Whistles o'er the fragrant flow'rs,
And cattle rouz'd to pafture new,
Shake jocund from their fides the dew.
'Tis thou alone, O SUMMER mild,
Canft bid me carol wood-notes wild :
Whene'er I view thy blissful scenes,
Thy waving woods, embroider'd greens;
What fires within my bofom wake,
250 How glows my mind the reed to take!
What fcenes like thine the muse can call,
With whom 'tis youth and laughter all;
With whom each field is paradise,
And all the globe a Bow'r of blifs!
With thee converfing, all day long
I meditate delightful fong.
These pedant cloysters let me leave,
To meet the lovely Muse at eve,
(For Eve's the fifter of the Muse)
In valleys where mild whispers use:
While wand'ring on the brook's grey verge
I hear the flock-dove's dying dirge.
But when life's bufier fcene is o'er,
And Age fhall give the treffes hoar,
I'd fly foft Luxury's marble dome,
And make an humble thatch my home,
Which floaping hills around enclose,
Where many a beech and brown oak grows;
Beneath whose dark and branching bow'rs
It's tides a far-fam'd river pours:
By nature's beauties taught to please,
Sweet Tufculane of rural ease!
Still grott of Peace! in lowly shed
Who loves to reft her gentle head.
For not the fcenes of Attic art
Can comfort care, or footh the heart:
Nor burning cheek, nor wakeful eye,
For gold, and Tyrian purple fly.
Thither, kind heaven, in pity lent,
Send me a little, and content;
The faithful friend, and chearful night,
The focial scene of dear delight:
The confcience pure, the temper gay,
The mufing eve, and idle day.
Give me beneath cool fhades to fit,
Rapt with the charms of claffic wit:
To catch the bold heroic flame
That built immortal Græcia's fame.
Nor let me fail, meantime, to raise
The facred fong to Britain's praise :
To fpurn the fhepherd's fimple reeds
And paint heroic ancient deeds :
Record old ARTHUR'S magic tale,
And EDWARD, fierce in fable mail.
Sing royal BRUTUS' lawless doom,
And brave BONDUCA, fcourge of Rome;
Great PENDRAGON's fair-branched line,
Stern ARVIRAGE, and old LOCRINE.
O ever to fweet Poefie,
300 Let me live true votary!
She fhall lead me by the hand, Queen of foft fmiles, and folace bland! She from her facred ftores fhall fhed Ambrofial flow'rets o'er my head: She fhall be my blooming bride, With her, as years fucceffive glide, I'll ever hold fweet dalliance, 308. Enwrapt as in fome magic trance.
S late I ftrove LUCILLA's lip to kifs,
She with difcurtefee reprov'd my will;
Doft thou, fhe faid, affect fo pleasant bliss,
A fimple fhepherd, and a lofell vile ?
Not Fancy's hand fhould join my courtly lip
To thine, as I myself were fast asleep.
As thus fhe fpake, full proud and boasting laffe,
And as a peacocke pearke, in dalliance
She bragly turned her ungentle face,
And all difdaining ey'd my shape askaunce:
But I did blush, with grief and fhame yblent,
Like morning-rofe with hoary dewe besprent.
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