As wandering shepherds on the' Arabian plains No settled residence observe, but shift Their moving camp; now, on some cooler hill Plot their destruction; or perchance in hopes Now golden Autumn from her open lap find Herfragrant bounties showers; the fields are shorn; And counts his large increase; his barns are stored, gay pack In the rough bristly stubbles range unblamed; No widow's tears o'erflow, no secret curse Swells in the farmer's breast, which his pale lips Trembling conceal, by his fierce landlord awed: But courteous now he levels every fence, Joins in the common cry, and halloos loud, Charm'd with the rattling thunder of the field. Oh bear me, some kind power invisible ! To that extended lawn, where the gay court View the swift races, stretching to the goal; Games more renown'd, and a far nobler train, Than proud Elean fields could boast of old. Oh! were a Theban lyre not wanting here, And Pindar's voice, to do their merit right! Or to those spacious plains, where the strain'd eye In the wide prospect lost, beholds at last Sarum's proud spire, that o'er the hills ascends, And pierces through the clouds. Or to thy downs, Fair Cotswold, where the well-breathed beagle climbs, With matchless speed, thy green aspiring brow, And leaves the lagging multitude behind. Hail, gentle Dawn! mild blushing goddess, hail! Rejoiced I see thy purple mantle 'spread O'er half the skies; gems pave thy radiant way, And orient pearls from every shrub depend. Farewell, Cleora; here deep sunk in down Slumber secure, with happy dreams amused, Till grateful steams shall tempt thee to receive Here on this verdant spot, where Nature kind With double blessings crowns the farmer's hopes; Where flowers autumnal spring, and the rank mead Affords the wandering hares a rich repast; Throw off thy ready pack. See, where they spread And range around, and dash the glittering dew. If some stanch hound, with his authentic voice, Avow the recent trail, the justling tribe Attend his call, then with one mutual cry The welcome news confirm, and echoing hills Repeat the pleasing tale. See how they thread The brakes, and up yon furrow drive along! But quick they back recoil, and wisely check Their eager haste; then o'er the fallow'd ground How leisurely they work, and many a pause The' harmonious concert breaks; till more assured, With joy redoubled the low valleys ring. What artful labyrinths perplex their way! Ah! there she lies: how close! she pants, she doubts If now she lives; she trembles as she sits, With horror seized. The wither'd grass that clings Around her head, of the same russet hue, Almost deceived my sight, had not her eyes With life full-beaming her vain wiles betray'd. At distance draw thy pack, let all be hush'd; No clamour loud, no frantic joy be heard; Lest the wild hound run gadding o'er the plain Untractable, nor hear thy chiding voice. Now gently put her off; see how direct [bring To her known mew she flies! Here, huntsman, (But without hurry) all thy jolly hounds, And calmy lay them in. How low they stoop, And seem to plough the ground! then all at once With greedy nostrils snuff the fuming steam |