385

New ftratagems and doubling wiles fhe tries,
Now circling turns, and now at large she flies;
Till, spent at laft, she pants, and heaves for breath,
Then lays her down, and waits devouring death.
But ftay, adventurous Muse! haft thou the force
To wind the twisted horn, to guide the horse?
To keep thy feat unmov'd, haft thou the skill,
O'er the high gate, and down the headlong hill?.
Canft thou the ftag's laborious chace direct,
Or the strong fox through all his arts detect?
The theme demands a more experienc'd lay :
Ye mighty hunters! spare this weak essay.

O happy plains, remote from wars alarms,
And all the ravages of hostile arms!
And happy fhepherds, who, fecure from fear,
On open downs preferve your fleecy care!

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395

Whose spacious barns groan with increafing ftore, 4co
And whirling flails disjoint the cracking floor!
No barbarous foldier, bent on cruel spoil,
Spreads defolation o'er your fertile foil;
No trampling fteed lays waste the ripen'd grain,
Nor crackling fires devour the promis'd gain :
No flaming beacons caft their blaze afar,
The dreadful fignal of invasive war:
No trumpet's clangor wounds the mother's ear,
And calls the lover from his fwooning fair.

What happiness the rural maid attends,
In cheerful labour while, each day she spends!
She gratefully receives what Heaven has sent,
And, rich in poverty, enjoys content.
C

VOL. XXXVI.

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410

(Such

(Such happiness, and fuch unblemish'd fame,
Ne'er glad the bofom of the courtly dame):
She never feels the fpleen's imagin'd pains,
Nor melancholy stagnates in her veins ;
She never lofes life in thoughtless ease,
Nor on the velvet couch invites disease ;
Her home-fpun drefs in fimple neatness lies,
And for no glaring equipage fhe fighs:
Her reputation, which is all her boast,
In a malicious vifit ne'er was loft;

No midnight masquerade her beauty wears,

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420

And health, not paint, the fading bloom repairs. 425
If love's foft paffion in her bofom reign,
An equal paffion warms her happy swain ;
No homebred jars her quiet ftate control,
Nor watchful jealousy torments her foul;
With fecret joy she sees her little race
Hang on her breast, and her small cottage grace;
The fleecy ball their bufy fingers cull,

Or from the spindle draw the lengthening wool:
Thus flow her hours with conftant peace of mind,
age the latest thread of life unwind.

Till

Ye happy fields, unknown to noise and strife,
The kind rewarders of industrious life;
Ye fhady woods, where once I us❜d to rove,
Alike indulgent to the Mufe and Love;
Ye murmuring ftreams that in meanders roll,
The sweet compofers of the penfive foul;
Farewel! The city calls me from your bowers:
Farewel, amufing thoughts and peaceful hours!

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435

440

THE

*Ενθ ̓ ἔνι μὲν φιλότης, ἐν δ ̓ ἵμερος, ἐν δ ̓ ὀαρισὺς,

Πάρφασις, ἥ τ ̓ ἔκλεψε νόον σύκα περ φρονεόντων
Τὸν ῥά δι ἔμβαλε χερσίν.

Hom. Iliad. xiv. 215.

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SING that graceful toy, whofe waving play
With gentle gales relieves the fultry day;
Not the wide fan by Perfian dames difplay'd,
Which o'er their beauty cafts a grateful shade;
Nor that long known in China's artful land,
Which, while it cools the face, fatigues the hand:
Nor fhall the Mufe in Afian climates rove,
To feek in Indoftan some spicy grove,
Where, stretch'd at ease, the panting lady lies,
To shun the fervor of meridian skies,
While sweating flaves catch every breeze of air,
And with wide-fpreading fans refresh the fair;
No bufy gnats her pleafing dreams moleft,
Inflame her cheek, or ravage o'er her breast;
But artificial zephyrs round her fly,
And mitigate the fever of the sky.

Nor fhall Bermudas long the Mufe detain,
Whose fragrant forests bloom in Waller's strain,
Where breathing fweets from every field afcend,
And the wild woods with golden apples bend.
Yet let me in fome odorous fhade repose,
Whilst in my verse the fair palmetto grows :
Like the tall pine it shoots its stately head;
From the broad top depending branches spread;

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