SHEPHERDS all, and maidens fair, Fold your flocks up; for the air 'Gins to thicken, and the sun Already his great course hath run. See the dew-drops, how they kiss Ev'ry little flow'r that is; Hanging on their velvet heads Like a string of crystal beads. See the heavy clouds low falling, And bright Hefperus down calling The dead night from under ground; At whose rifing, mifts unfound, Damps, and vapours, fly apace, Hov'ring o'er the smiling face Of these pastures, where they come, Striking dead both bud and bloom : Therefore, from fuch danger lock Ev'ry one his loved flock,
And let your dogs lie loose without, Left the wolf come as a scout
From the mountain, and, ere day,
Bear a lamb or kid away;
Or the crafty thievish fox
Break upon your fimple flocks.
SWEET was the found, when oft at ev'ning's clofe
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose! There, as I pafs'd with careless fleps and flow, The mingling notes came soften'd from below: The fwain refponfive as the milk-maid fung; The fober herd that low'd to meet their young: The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool; The playful children juft let loose from school; The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whisp'ring wind;
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind: Thefe, all, in foft confufion fought the fhade, And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made.
Ev'N when the farmer, now fecure of fear, Sends in the fwains to spoil the finish'd year; Ev'n when the reaper fills his greedy hands, And binds the golden fheaves in brittle bands; Oft have I feen a fudden storm arise
From all the warring winds that sweep the skies. The heavy harvest from the root is torn, And whirl'd aloft the lighter ftubble borne; With fuch a force the flying rack is driv❜n, And fuch a winter wears the face of heav'n: The lofty skies at once come pouring down, The promis'd crop and golden labours drown. The dikes are fill'd, and, with a roaring found,' The rifing rivers float the nether ground; And rocks the bellowing voice of boiling feas rebound.
The father of the gods his glory shrouds, Involv'd in tempefts and a night of clouds; And from the middle darkness flashing out, By fits he deals his fiery bolts about.
Deep horror feizes ev'ry human breast, Their pride is humbled, and their fear confest : While he from high his rolling thunder throws, And fires the mountains with repeated blows: The rocks are from their old foundations rent; The winds redouble, and the rains augment: The waves in heaps are dafh'd against the fhore, And now the woods and now the billows roar. DRYDEN'S VIRGIL.
SEE, the day begins to break,
And the light shoots like a streak
Of fubtle fire; the wind blows cold, While the morning doth unfold; Now the birds begin to roufe, And the squirrel from the boughs Leaps, to get him nuts and fruit; The early lark, that erft was mute, Carols in the rifing day
Many a note and many a lay.
SWEET rural scene
Of flocks and green!
At careless ease my limbs are fpread; All nature ftill,
And lift'ning pines nod o'er my head:
In profpect wide
The boundless tide!
Waves cease to foam, and winds to roar:
Without a breeze,
The curling feas
Dance on in measure to the fhore.
Through nature wide,
Is nought defcried
So rich in pleasure and surprise; When all ferene,
How fweet the scene!
How dreadful when the billows rife!
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