 | A Collection of Poems |  |
41
COUNTRY-LIFE.
An Eclogue.
To Mr. Rotheram.
Tantus amor terræ ------
Virg.
Virg.
To
you, whose Mind with ev'ry Art's endow'd,
Learn'd, and polite, and wise, and just, and good;
Not only form'd t'instruct us, both to please,
With Strength to vanquish, or to charm with Ease.
To you, the Muse, ambitious in her Choice,
Lifts up her rural Song, and tunes her Voice;
And if you deign a friendly Smile to show,
Tho' low my Verse, my Glory is not so.
Learn'd, and polite, and wise, and just, and good;
Not only form'd t'instruct us, both to please,
With Strength to vanquish, or to charm with Ease.
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Lifts up her rural Song, and tunes her Voice;
And if you deign a friendly Smile to show,
Tho' low my Verse, my Glory is not so.
The happy Swain, who lives on homely Fare,
Serene his Days, and quiet is his Care.
Tho' hid from Fame, yet he's remote from Strife,
Feels all the Blessings, and the Joys of Life;
Gluts not on Feasts, nor Nods, o'er Fumes of Wine,
But drinks the gen'rous Tribute of his Kine;
Or temp'rate feeds on Meat and eats the Bread,
His Hands did sow, and his own Closes fed:
Pleas'd with the Plenty Providence has sent,
He thanks the Pow'rs above, and is content.
Serene his Days, and quiet is his Care.
Tho' hid from Fame, yet he's remote from Strife,
Feels all the Blessings, and the Joys of Life;
Gluts not on Feasts, nor Nods, o'er Fumes of Wine,
But drinks the gen'rous Tribute of his Kine;
Or temp'rate feeds on Meat and eats the Bread,
His Hands did sow, and his own Closes fed:
Pleas'd with the Plenty Providence has sent,
He thanks the Pow'rs above, and is content.
His Limbs repose not on the downy Bed,
Nor painted Figures shine above his Head;
But nightly Rest in lowly Cots he takes,
Unbroke his Slumbers, and serene he wakes,
When the bright Day-Star, by Aurora driven,
Flames thro' the Concave of the eastern Heav'n;
The feather'd Songsters fill the morning Skies,
With echoing Notes, and call the Swain to rise;
With Pleasure he observes the joyful Sound,
And leaves his rural Shed, and walks his Ground;
Here he beholds his spacious Oxen feed;
And there his Kine are grazing on the Mead;
And here his fleecy Flocks command his Eye;
He sees, and as he sees, exults with Joy;
While Herbs, or Flow'rs, or Fruit, his Sense regale,
With balmy Airs, that leave him strong and hale:
This makes his daily Labours pass with ease,
And ev'n the worst of rural Hardships please.
In verdant Fields he cheats his Time away,
On Wings more bright, more sweet, more soft than they.
Each Day, new Beauties charm his wond'ring Sight,
And each new Beauty gives as new Delight;
In Spring he views the blended Glories rise,
Which ev'ry Day more blended strike his Eyes,
The Summer-Sun the rip'ning Fruit displays,
And paints the various Fruit as various ways.
Delicious Autumn finds a rich repast,
And various Pleasure gives, in various Taste.
Nor Winter's self's to scenes of Pleasure lost,
But varies Charms in various Works of Frost.
Nor painted Figures shine above his Head;
But nightly Rest in lowly Cots he takes,
Unbroke his Slumbers, and serene he wakes,
When the bright Day-Star, by Aurora driven,
Flames thro' the Concave of the eastern Heav'n;
43
With echoing Notes, and call the Swain to rise;
With Pleasure he observes the joyful Sound,
And leaves his rural Shed, and walks his Ground;
Here he beholds his spacious Oxen feed;
And there his Kine are grazing on the Mead;
And here his fleecy Flocks command his Eye;
He sees, and as he sees, exults with Joy;
While Herbs, or Flow'rs, or Fruit, his Sense regale,
With balmy Airs, that leave him strong and hale:
This makes his daily Labours pass with ease,
And ev'n the worst of rural Hardships please.
In verdant Fields he cheats his Time away,
On Wings more bright, more sweet, more soft than they.
Each Day, new Beauties charm his wond'ring Sight,
And each new Beauty gives as new Delight;
In Spring he views the blended Glories rise,
Which ev'ry Day more blended strike his Eyes,
The Summer-Sun the rip'ning Fruit displays,
And paints the various Fruit as various ways.
44
And various Pleasure gives, in various Taste.
Nor Winter's self's to scenes of Pleasure lost,
But varies Charms in various Works of Frost.
Now with his Plough he turns the furrow'd Land,
Or throws the future Harvest from his Hand:
Or prunes his Trees, or teaches Grafts to grow,
And bids the Crab with golden Apples glow:
Ev'n aged Trees which scarce alive remain,
His skilful Hand renews to Life again;
New Ranks of Boughs he teaches them to wear,
And be once more the Glory of the Year.
Or throws the future Harvest from his Hand:
Or prunes his Trees, or teaches Grafts to grow,
And bids the Crab with golden Apples glow:
Ev'n aged Trees which scarce alive remain,
His skilful Hand renews to Life again;
New Ranks of Boughs he teaches them to wear,
And be once more the Glory of the Year.
And now he cuts the Honours of the Plain,
And gath'ring in his Loads of ripen'd Grain,
He joys to see his Labour back has told,
Or thirty, sixty, or an hundred Fold.
And now he shakes the bending Trees, which bear
The reden'd Apple, and the mellow'd Pear.
Or takes his Bees, and from the wealthy Dome,
Bears Floods of Honey in the golden Comb.
And gath'ring in his Loads of ripen'd Grain,
He joys to see his Labour back has told,
Or thirty, sixty, or an hundred Fold.
And now he shakes the bending Trees, which bear
The reden'd Apple, and the mellow'd Pear.
Or takes his Bees, and from the wealthy Dome,
Bears Floods of Honey in the golden Comb.
45
Thus joyful come his Days, and calmly go,
And what's his Labour's his Diversion too;
Whilst unperceiv'd, old Age comes gently on,
He lives unenvy'd, and he envies none:
When Death draws near, he joyful meets his Doom,
Nor dreads a sep'rate State in Worlds to come.
O happy Life! such blissful Years were told,
When Time slid o'er on easy Wings of Gold:
Ere yellow Metal learn'd in Fires to flow,
Or flaming Stones were taught in Crowns to glow:
When faithful Pairs in Grottos told their Loves,
And Shades gave Laws, and Courts were held in Groves.
Hail happy Hills and Plains! you still appear
The same, and yet the golden Age is here.
And what's his Labour's his Diversion too;
Whilst unperceiv'd, old Age comes gently on,
He lives unenvy'd, and he envies none:
When Death draws near, he joyful meets his Doom,
Nor dreads a sep'rate State in Worlds to come.
O happy Life! such blissful Years were told,
When Time slid o'er on easy Wings of Gold:
Ere yellow Metal learn'd in Fires to flow,
Or flaming Stones were taught in Crowns to glow:
When faithful Pairs in Grottos told their Loves,
And Shades gave Laws, and Courts were held in Groves.
Hail happy Hills and Plains! you still appear
The same, and yet the golden Age is here.
The sacred Muses, who my Soul inspire,
With pleasing Dreams and sweet poetick Fire,
Invite my Genius to your rural Scenes,
And warm my Breast in Views of bow'ry Greens.
Methinks I'm laid upon the spangled Ground,
And Zephirs waft, and Fragrance breathes around.
Here while beneath the spreading Pine I lie,
And Raptures, warm from Nature's Hand enjoy;
I envy not the Great their Pomp and Show,
While Flatt'rers Praise, and Vulgar gaze below:
Nor with the Merchant would I risque my Peace
Expos'd to Tempests and the dang'rous Seas.
With pleasing Dreams and sweet poetick Fire,
Invite my Genius to your rural Scenes,
And warm my Breast in Views of bow'ry Greens.
46
And Zephirs waft, and Fragrance breathes around.
Here while beneath the spreading Pine I lie,
And Raptures, warm from Nature's Hand enjoy;
I envy not the Great their Pomp and Show,
While Flatt'rers Praise, and Vulgar gaze below:
Nor with the Merchant would I risque my Peace
Expos'd to Tempests and the dang'rous Seas.
O give me Shades, and let me live retir'd,
Where Truth's belov'd, and Virtue is admir'd!
Where Hearts are honest, Innocence is pure,
And smiling Health and Peace repose secure!
No anxious Thoughts shall there my Hours molest,
Or vexing Cares sit heavy on my Breast:
Nor midnight Revels call abroad my Soul,
To sate in Cups, or swill the mad'ning Bowl.
Where Truth's belov'd, and Virtue is admir'd!
Where Hearts are honest, Innocence is pure,
And smiling Health and Peace repose secure!
No anxious Thoughts shall there my Hours molest,
Or vexing Cares sit heavy on my Breast:
Nor midnight Revels call abroad my Soul,
To sate in Cups, or swill the mad'ning Bowl.
While raptur'd on the flow'ry Bank I lie,
And o'er the Works of Nature cast mine Eye;
Unnumber'd Beauties there my Soul shall find,
And from them paint their Author to my Mind:
Here Meadows clad in green, there shady Bow'rs,
Here glow the Blossoms, and there spread the Flow'rs;
Here Trees and Hedges compass in the Field,
And there large Woods a pleasing Prospect yield.
Nor will the lone Recess, the solemn Grot,
Or please me less, or less improve my Thought:
There seated silent on a rugged Stone,
Shagg'd o'er with Heath, and thick with Moss o'er grown,
Where shatter'd Rocks an awful Scene compose,
And darksome Hollies wave upon their Brows;
Where chrystal Streams from bubbling Fountains flow
Fall tinkling down the Hills, and purl below:
Pleas'd with the Prospect, I shall sit serene,
View the grey Craggs, brown Hills, and Mountains green;
And as each Object strikes upon mine Eyes,
My Soul shall swell, my Contemplations rise:
Or backward from th' Effect, explore the Cause,
Or praise the Pow'r, which gave the World it's Laws;
Why Springs are found upon the barren Hill,
From Cliffs of Rocks, why gliding Streams distil;
Why Sops of Mist which gather from the Plain,
And climb the Hills, should promise Drops of Rain;
Why Clouds should flit on high, or roll below;
And what it is that paints the various Bow.
Why Morning grey, and Ev'ning streak'd with red,
Should tell the Swain fair Weather will succeed.
Whence Thunder breeds, why labours in the Skie,
Whence breaks the Roar, and whence the Lightnings fly.
And why the Sun, or short, or longer shines,
And why the Seasons change as he declines.
Or why the Moon should gild the Shades of Night,
With shining Horns, or a full Orb of Light;
Why liquid Streams the Pow'r of Frost obey,
Or Ice before the Fire should melt away.
And o'er the Works of Nature cast mine Eye;
Unnumber'd Beauties there my Soul shall find,
And from them paint their Author to my Mind:
47
Here glow the Blossoms, and there spread the Flow'rs;
Here Trees and Hedges compass in the Field,
And there large Woods a pleasing Prospect yield.
Nor will the lone Recess, the solemn Grot,
Or please me less, or less improve my Thought:
There seated silent on a rugged Stone,
Shagg'd o'er with Heath, and thick with Moss o'er grown,
Where shatter'd Rocks an awful Scene compose,
And darksome Hollies wave upon their Brows;
Where chrystal Streams from bubbling Fountains flow
Fall tinkling down the Hills, and purl below:
Pleas'd with the Prospect, I shall sit serene,
View the grey Craggs, brown Hills, and Mountains green;
And as each Object strikes upon mine Eyes,
My Soul shall swell, my Contemplations rise:
Or backward from th' Effect, explore the Cause,
Or praise the Pow'r, which gave the World it's Laws;
48
From Cliffs of Rocks, why gliding Streams distil;
Why Sops of Mist which gather from the Plain,
And climb the Hills, should promise Drops of Rain;
Why Clouds should flit on high, or roll below;
And what it is that paints the various Bow.
Why Morning grey, and Ev'ning streak'd with red,
Should tell the Swain fair Weather will succeed.
Whence Thunder breeds, why labours in the Skie,
Whence breaks the Roar, and whence the Lightnings fly.
And why the Sun, or short, or longer shines,
And why the Seasons change as he declines.
Or why the Moon should gild the Shades of Night,
With shining Horns, or a full Orb of Light;
Why liquid Streams the Pow'r of Frost obey,
Or Ice before the Fire should melt away.
When in these Searches should my Soul be tost,
And in the pleasing Labyrinths be lost;
Thence should she learn her own Defects to know,
And whence the Joys of her Existence flow:
The wond'rous Source should teach her to admire,
Enlarge her Thoughts, and lift the Muse's Fire;
The rapt'rous Ken should bid my Numbers rise,
And leave the Earth, and range above the Skies.
And in the pleasing Labyrinths be lost;
Thence should she learn her own Defects to know,
And whence the Joys of her Existence flow:
The wond'rous Source should teach her to admire,
Enlarge her Thoughts, and lift the Muse's Fire;
49
And leave the Earth, and range above the Skies.
| A Collection of Poems | |