Oh may I live exempted (while I live
Guiltlefs of pampered appetite obfcene)
From pangs arthritic, that infest the toe
Of libertine excefs. The SOFA fuits
The gouty limb, 'tis true; but gouty limb,
Though on a SOFA, may I never feel:
For I have loved the rural walk through lanes
Of graffy fwarth, close cropt by nibbling theep,
And fkirted thick with intertexture firm
Of thorny boughs; have loved the rural walk
Over hills, through vallies, and by rivers' brink,
Ever fince a truant boy I paffed my bounds
To enjoy a ramble on the banks of Thames;
And still remember, nor without regret

Of hours, that forrow fince has much endeared,
How oft, my flice of pocket store confumed,
Still hungering, penny lefs, and far from home,
I fed on fcarlet hips and ftony haws,
Or blufhing crabs, or berries, that imbofs
The bramble, black as jet, or floes auftere.
Hard fare! but fuch as boyish appetite
Difdains not; nor the palate, undepraved
By culinary arts, unfavory deems.
No SOFA then awaited my return;

Nor SOFA then I needed. Youth repairs
His wafted fpirits quickly, by long toil
Incurring fhort fatigue; and, though our years,
As life declines, fpeed rapidly away,

And not a year but pilfers as he goes

Some youthful grace, that age would gladly keep; A tooth or auburn lock, and by degrees

Their length and colour from the locks they spare;
The elastic spring of an unwearied foot,

That mounts the ftile with ease, or leaps the fence,
That play of lungs, inhaling and again
Refpiring freely the fresh air, that makes
Swift pace or steep ascent no toil to me,
Mine have not pilfered yet; nor yet impaired
My relish of fair profpect; fcenes that foothed
Or charmed me young, no longer young, I find
Still foothing, and of power to charm me still.
And witness, dear companion of my walks,
Whose arm this twentieth winter I perceive
Fast locked in mine, with pleasure such as love,
Confirmed by long experience of thy worth
And well-tried virtues, could alone infpire-
Witness a joy that thou hast doubled long.
Thou knoweft my praise of nature most fincere,

And that my raptures are not conjured up
To ferve occafions of poetic pomp,

But genuine, and art partner of them all.
How oft upon yon eminence our pace

Has flackened to a pause, and we have borne
The ruffling wind, fcarce confcious that it blew,
While admiration feeding at the eye,

And still unfated, dwelt upon the scene.

Thence with what pleasure have we just difcerned
The diftant plough flow moving, and befide
His labouring team, that fwerved not from the track,
The sturdy fwain diminished to a boy!
Here Oufe, flow winding through a level plain
Of fpacious meads with cattle sprinkled over,
Conducts the eye along his finuous courfe
Delighted. There, faft rooted in their bank,
Stand, never overlooked, our favourite elms,
That screen the herdfman's folitary hut;
While far beyond, and overthwart the stream
That, as with molten glass, inlays the vale,、
The floping land recedes into the clouds;
Difplaying on its varied fide the grace

Of hedge-row beauties numberless, square tower,
Tall fpire, from which the found of cheerful bells

Juft undulates upon the listening ear,
Groves, heaths, and smoking villages, remote.
Scenes must be beautiful, which daily viewed
Please daily, and whofe novelty furvives
Long knowledge and the fcrutiny of years.
Praise justly due to thofe that I defcribe.

Nor rural fights alone, but rural founds, Exhilarate the spirit, and restore

The tone of languid Nature. Mighty winds,
That sweep the skirt of some far-spreading wood
Of ancient growth, make mufic not unlike
The dafh of ocean on his winding shore,
And lull the spirit while they fill the mnd;
Unnumbered branches waving in the blast,
And all their leaves faft fluttering, all at once.
Nor less compofure waits upon the roar
Of diftant floods, or on the fofter voice
Of neighbouring fountain, or of rills that flip
Through the cleft rock, and, chiming as they fall
Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length
In matted grafs, that with a livelier green
Betrays the fecret of their filent course.
Nature inanimate employs fweet sounds,

But animated nature sweeter ftill,

To footh and fatisfy the human ear.

Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one
The live-long night: nor thefe alone, whoíe notes
Nice fingered art muft emulate in vain,

But cawing rooks, and kites that swim fublime
In ftill repeated circles, fcreaming loud,
The jay, the pie, and even the boding owl,
That hails the rifing moon, have charms for me.
Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh,
Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns,
And only there, please highly for their fake.

Peace to the artift, whofe ingenious thought
Devised the weather-house, that useful toy!
Fearless of humid air and gathering rains,
Forth fteps the man-an emblem of myself!
More delicate his timorous mate retires.
When Winter foaks the fields, and female feet,
Too weak to ftruggle with tenacious clay,
Or ford the rivulets, are beft at home,
The talk of new discoveries falls on me.

At fuch a feafon, and with fuch a charge,
Once went I forth; and found, till then unknown,