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An Invitation, v. 1. The approach to a Villa de
scribed, v.5. Its situation, v. 17. Its few apartments, v. 57. furnished with casts from the Antique, and engravings from the Italian Masters, v. 63. The dining-room, v. 83. The library, v. 89. A cold bath, v. 101. An ice-house, v. 111. A winter-walk, v. 157. A summer-walk, v. 169. The invitation rene
newed, v. 203. Conclusion,
Has class'd the insect-tribes of human-kind,
Each with its busy hum, or gilded wing,
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;
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 Bond-street 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, pass a
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!