WHEN, with a REAUMUR's skill, thy curious mind

Has class'd the insect-tribes of human-kind,

Its subtle web-work, or its venom'd sting;

Let me, to claim a few unvalued hours,

Point the green lane that leads thro' fern and flowers;

The shelter'd gate that opens to my field,

And the white front thro' mingling elms reveal'd.

In vain, alas, a village-friend invites

To simple comforts, and domestic rites,

When the gay months of Carnival resume

Their annual round of glitter and perfume;
When London hails thee to its splendid mart

Its hives of sweets, and cabinets of art;

And, lo, majestic as thy manly song,

Flows the full tide of human life along.

Still must my partial pencil love to dwell

On the home-prospects of my hermit cell;
The mossy pales that skirt the orchard-green,
Here hid by shrub-wood, there by glimpses seen;
And the brown pathway, that, with careless flow,
Sinks, and is lost among the trees below.

Still must it trace (the flattering tints forgive)

Each fleeting charm that bids the landscape live.

Oft o'er the mead, at pleasing distance, passa

Browsing the hedge by fits the pannier'd ass;

The idling shepherd-boy, with rude delight,

Whistling his dog to mark the pebble's flight;
And in her kerchief blue the cottage-maid,

With brimming pitcher from the shadowy glade.
Far to the south a mountain-vale retires,

Rich in its groves, and glens, and village-spires;
Its upland lawns, and cliffs with foliage hung,
Its wizard-stream, nor nameless nor unsung:
And thro' the various year, the various day, b

What scenes of glory burst, and melt away!

When April-verdure springs in Grosvenor-square,

And the furr'd Beauty comes to winter there,

She bids old Nature mar the plan no more;

Yet still the seasons circle as before.

Ah, still as soon the

young

Aurora plays,

Tho' moons and flambeaux trail their broadest blaze;

As soon the sky-lark pours his matin song,

Tho' Evening lingers at the mask so long.

There let her strike with momentary ray,
As tapers shine their little lives away;
There let her practise from herself to steal,

And look the happiness she does not feel;
The ready smile and bidden blush employ

At Faro-routs that dazzle to destroy;

Fan with affected ease the essenc'd air,

And lisp of fashions with unmeaning stare.

Be thine to meditate an humbler flight,

When morning fills the fields with rosy light;

Be thine to blend, nor thine a vulgar aim,

Repose with dignity, with Quiet fame.

Here no state-chambers in long line unfold,

Bright with broad mirrors, rough with fretted gold;

Yet modest ornament, with use combin'd,

Attracts the eye to exercise the mind.

Small change of scene, small space his home requires, ©

Who leads a life of satisfied desires.

What tho' no marble breathes, no canvass glows,

From every point a ray of genius flows!d

Be mine to bless the more mechanic skill,
That stamps, renews, and multiplies at will;
And cheaply circulates, thro' distant climes,
The fairest relics of the purest times.

Here from the mould to conscious being start

Those finer forms, the miracles of art;

Here chosen gems, imprest on sulphur, shine,

That slept for ages in a second mine;