Then fnug enclosures in the fhelter'd vale,
Where frequent hedges intercept the eye,
Delight us; happy to renounce awhile,
Not fenfelefs of its charms, what still we love,
That fuch fhort abfence may endear it more.
Then forests, or the favage rock, may please,
That hides the fea-mew in his hollow clefts
Above the reach of man. His hoary head,
Confpicuous many a league, the mariner,
Bound homeward, and in hope already there,
Greets with three cheers exulting. At his waist
A girdle of half-wither'd shrubs he shows,
And at his feet the baffled billows die.

The common, overgrown with fern, and rough
With prickly gorfe, that, shapeless and deform'd,
And dang'rous to the touch, has yet its bloom,
And decks itself with ornaments of gold,
Yields no unpleafing ramble; there the turf
Smells fresh, and, rich in odorif'rous herbs

And fungous fruits of earth, regales the fenfe
With luxury of unexpected fweets.

There often wanders one, whom better days Saw better clad, in cloak of fatin trimm'd With lace, and hat with fplendid ribband bound. A ferving maid was fhe, and fell in love

With one who left her, went to fea, and died.
Her fancy follow'd him through foaming waves
To diftant fhores; and fhe would fit and weep
At what a failor fuffers; fancy, too,

Delusive moft where warmest wishes are,
Would oft anticipate his glad return,

And dream of tranfports fhe was not to know.
She heard the doleful tidings of his death-
And never fmil'd again! and now the roams
The dreary wafte; there fpends the livelong day,
And there, unlefs when charity forbids,

The livelong night. A tatter'd apron hides,
Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides, a gown

More tatter'd ftill; and both but ill conceal

A bofom heav'd with never-ceafing fighs,
She begs an idle pin of all fhe meets,

And hoards them in her fleeve; but needful food, Though prefs'd with hunger oft, or comelier clothes, Though pinch'd with cold, asks never.—Kate is craz’d¡

I fee a column of flow rifing fmoke.

O'ertop the lofty wood that fkirts the wild,
A vagabond and useless tribe there eat
Their miferable meal. A kettle, flung
Between two poles upon a stick transverse,
Receives the morfel-flefh obfcene of dog,
Or vermin, or, at best, of cock purloin'd
From his accustom'd perch. Hard-faring race!
They pick their fuel out of ev'ry hedge,

Which, kindled with dry leaves, just saves unquench'd
The fpark of life. The fportive wind blows wide

Their flutt'ring rags, and fhows a tawny skin,

The vellum of the pedigree they claim.

Great skill have they in palmistry, and more
To conjure clean away the gold they touch,

Conveying worthless drofs into its place;

Loud when they beg, dumb only when they steal.
Strange! that a creature rational, and cast

In human mould, should brutalize by choice
His nature; and, though capable of arts

By which the world might profit, and himself,
Self-banish'd from fociety, prefer

Such fqualid foth to honourable toil!

Yet even thefe, though, feigning fickness oft,
They swathe the forehead, drag the limping limb,
And vex their flesh with artificial fores,

Can change their whine into a mirthful note
When safe occasion offers; and, with dance,

And mufic of the bladder and the bag,

Beguile their woes, and make the woods refound.

Such health and gaiety of heart enjoy

The houseless rovers of the sylvan world;

And, breathing wholesome air, and wand'ring much,

Need other phyfic none to heal th' effects

Of loathfome diet, penury, and cold.

Bleft he, though undistinguish'd from the crowd By wealth or dignity, who dwells fecure,

Where man, by nature fierce, has laid afide

His fierceness, having learnt, though flow to learn,
The manners and the arts of civil life.

His wants, indeed, are many; but supply
Is obvious, plac'd within the eafy reach
Of temp'rate wifhes and industrious hands.
Here virtue thrives as in her proper foil;
Not rude and furly, and befet with thorns,
And terrible to fight, as when she springs
(If e'er the fpring fpontaneous) in remote
And barb'rous climes, where violence prevails,
And ftrength is lord of all; but gentle, kind,
By culture tam'd, by liberty refresh'd,
And all her fruits by radiant truth matur'd.
War and the chafe engrofs the favage whole