The Summer Evening Walk.

The blackbird warbles on the bough,
The milkmaid sings beneath her cow;
The mower, up with early dawn,
Prepares to fleece the clover'd lawn;
The farmer views his blooming wheat,
And starts the lev'ret from her seat;
Whilst I this lonely vale frequent,
To muse the praises of content.

Pleas'd with my little flock of sheep,
That on my native downs I keep,
Mine are the joys of peace and health,
And sure I want no greater wealth:
No vain desires my soul infest,
Nor dwells ambition in my breast:
Heaven, all such follies to prevent,
Tamed all my thoughts to soft content.

69

WILLIAMS.

THE SUMMER EVENING WALK.

WHEN day declining sheds a milder gleam, What time the may-fly haunts the pool or stream;

70

The Summer Evening Walk.

When the still owl skims round the grassy mead,

What time the tim❜rous hare limps forth to feed;
Then be the time to steal adown the vale,
And listen to the vagrant cuckoo's tale;
To hear the clam'rous curlew call his mate,
Or the soft quail his tender pain relate ;
To see the swallow sweep the dark'ning plain,
Belated, to support her infant train;

To mark the swift, in rapid giddy ring,
Dash round the steeple, unsubdued of wing :—
Amusive birds! say where your hid retreat
When the frost rages, and the tempests beat?
Whence your return, by such nice instinct led,
When spring, soft season, lifts her bloomy head?
Such baffled searches mock man's prying pride ›
The God of nature is your secret guide.

While deep'ning shades obscure the face of day, To yonder bench, leaf-shelter'd, let us stray. Till blended objects fail the swimming sight, And all the fading landscape sinks in night; To hear the drowsy dorr come brushing by, With buzzing wing, or the shrill cricket cry;

Recovery from Sickness.

71

To see the feeding bat glance thro' the wood; To catch the distant falling of the flood;

While o'er the cliffth' awaken'd churn owl hung Thro' the still gloom protracts his chatt'ring song; While high in air, and pois'd upon his wings, Unseen, the soft enamour'd woodlark sings: Each rural sight, each sound, each smell, combine,

The tinkling sheep-bell, or the breath of kine; The new-mown hay that scents the swelling breeze,

Or cottage chimney smoking thro' the trees.

WHITE.

RECOVERY FROM SICKNESS.

SEE the wretch, that long has tost
On the thorny bed of pain,

At length repair his vigour lost,
And breathe and walk again :

The meanest flow'ret of the vale,

The simplest note that swells the gale,

The common sun, the air, the skies,
To him are op'ning paradise.

72 The Whirlwind.-To Leven Water.

THE WHIRLWIND.

WHEN forth from gloomy clouds a whirlwind springs,

That bears the thunder on its dreadful wings, Wide o'er the blasted fields the tempest sweeps, Then, gather'd, settles on the hoary deeps; Th' afflicted deeps tumultuous mix and roar; The waves behind impel the waves before, Wide rolling, foaming high, and tumbling to the shore.

DRYDEN.

TO LEVEN WATER.

PURE stream! in whose transparent wave
My youthful limbs I wont to lave;
No torrents stain thy limpid source;
No rocks impede thy dimpling course,
That sweetly warbles o'er its bed,

With white, round, polish'd pebbles spread;
While, lightly pois'd, the scaly brood
In myriads cleave thy crystal flood;
The springing trout in speckled pride;
The salmon, monarch of the tide ;

Hay-making.

The ruthless pike, intent on war;
The silver eel, and mottled par.
Devolving from their parent lake,
A charming maze thy waters make,
By bowers of birch, and groves of pine,
And hedges flower'd with eglantine.
Still on thy banks so gaily green,

May num'rous herds and flocks be seen,
And lasses chanting o'er the pail,
And shepherds piping in the dale,
And ancient faith that knows no guile,
And industry embrown'd with toil,
And hearts resolv'd and hands prepar'd,
The blessings they enjoy to guard!

73

SMOLLET.

HAY-MAKING.

WHEN the fresh spring in all her state is crown'd,
And high luxuriant grass o'erspreads the ground
The lab'rer with the bending scythe is seen,
Shaving the surface of the waving green,
Of all her native pride disrobes the land,
And meads lie waste before his sweeping hand;

H