Thus Smollett : Nature I'll court in her sequester'd haunts, By mountain, meadow, streamlet, grove, or cell, And friendship pledge me to his fellow swains; The slender cord that fluttering life sustains; And sleep, imbib'd, his dews refreshing shed; "Tis sweet in solitude to hear The earliest flowers of spring to greet, Joy flits on every roving wing, Pope, in one of his earliest productions in tuneful numbers, praises the charms of a still, retired, country life. As far as real happiness is concerned, the following ode seems to comprehend every thing necessary for man on this side the tomb; ODE TO SOLITUDE. Happy the man, whose wish and care Content to breathe his native air, In his own ground Whose herds with milk, whose field with bread, Blest, who can unconcern'dly find Hours, days, and years, slide soft away, Sound sleep by night; study and ease, Thus let me live unseen, unknown, Steal from the world, and not a stone The following piece is an attempt to imitate the preceding ode of Pope. It is entitled THE PEASANT. The peasant's blest, who in his cot, Whose family to clothe and feed, Does each new day his hands employ ; O happy state! which so contents: Nor guilt nor fear his joys dismay, He works and sings. But when the sun retracts his rays, And evening smoke from chimneys come, Goes whistling home. There he his leisure hours enjoys, Till sleep o'erpowers his weary eyes, Thus steal away his earthly days, In health, content, and ease, Till he the debt of nature pays, And dies in peace. Each neighb'ring peasant mourns his end, With heart sincere. O Heav'n! let me such bliss enjoy, I suppose my friend Brettell had Pope's Ode to The busy world's tumultuous noise, མ ས་ Why should I leave this peaceful vale, Oh! may my life still calmly flow, Glides tow'rds the main. And when approach death's shadows drear, Upon my tomb! CHAP. XXIII. THE PLEASURES OF COUNTRY AND RETIREMENT continued. He, who remov'd afar from noise and strife, When the loud thunder shakes the trembling spheres, That whispers peace o'er every hill and vale. BRETTELL St. Pierre, in his Studies of Nature, has the following observations respecting the blessings and advantages in agriculture: "The corn-plant has relations innumerable with the wants of man, and of his domestic animals. It is neither too high nor too low for his stature. It is easily handled and reaped. It furnishes grain to his poultry, bran to his pigs, forage and litter to his black cattle and horses. Every plant that grows in his corn-field possesses virtues particularly adapted to the maladies incident to the condition of the labouring man, The poppy is a cure for the pleurisy; it procures sleep, it stops hemorrhages and spitting of blood. The blue-bottle is a diuretic; it is vulnerary, cordial, and cooling; it is an antidote to the stings of venomous insects, and a remedy for inflammation of the eyes. Thus the husbandman finds all needful pharmacy in the field which he cultivates. The culture of this staff of life discloses to him many other agreeable concerts with his fleeting existence. The direction of its shadow informs him of the hour of the day; from its progressive growth he learns the rapid flight of the seasons; he reckons the flux of his own fugitive years by the successions of the guiltless harvests which he has reaped. He is haunted with no apprehension, like the inhabitants of great cities, of conjugal infidelity, or of a too numerous posterity. His labours are always surpassed by the benefits of nature. When the sun gets to the sign of Virgo, he summons his kindred, he invites his neighbours, and marches at their head, by the dawning of the day, with sickle in hand, to the ripening field. His heart exults with joy as he binds up the swelling sheaves, while his children dance around them, crowned with garlands of blue-bottles and wild poppies. Their harmless play recals to his memory the amusements of his own early days and of his own virtuous ancestors, whom he hopes at length to rejoin in a happier world. The sight of his copious harvest demonstrates to him that there is a GOD; and every return of that joyous season, bringing to his recollection the delicious eras of his past existence, inspires him with gratitude to the great Being, who has united the transient society of men by an eternal chain of blessings.' "Ye flowery meadows, ye majestic murmuring forests, ye mossy fountains, ye desert rocks, frequented by the dove alone, ye enchanting solitudes, which charm by your ineffable concerts; happy is the man who shall be permitted to unveil your hidden beauties! but still happier far is he, who shall have it in his power calmly to enjoy them, in the inheritance of his forefathers!" The reader must be treated with a few more poetical quotations; for the poets are rich on this subject. Thus Broome, Hail! ye soft seats, ye limpid springs and floods, The following is the Rural Invitation of a Sylvan Poet: Chaunt on, ye warblers, from each verdant spray, |