Detains, athwart th' impurpling haze, The rook-lov'd groves and grange between, Dark hedge-row elms with meadows green, The grey church peeping half through trees, Slopes waving corn as list the breeze, The podding bean-field strip'd with balks, No more the onward foot beguile Where pollards rude protect the stile. Whose look now scans the dusky sphere To note successive stars appear? Who now the dawning flush descries That upward streams o'er northern skies; Or the wan meteor's lurid light That headlong trailing mocks the sight? Midst the lush grass who now require The glow-worm's ineffectual fire ? Or catch the bells from distant vale, That load by fits the freshening gale, Till flurrying from her ivied spray The moping owl rewings her way ? When Autumn sere the copse invades No more you haunt the woodland glades, To eye the change from bough to bough; Or eddying leaf descending slow, That, lighting near her calm retreat, Prompts the shy hare to shift her seat; Or peering squirrel nimbly glean Each nut that hung before unseen; Or flitting down from thistle born; Or glossy haw that crowds the thorn, Whence oft' in saws observers old Portend the length of winter's cold. Wak'd by the flail's redoubling sound, When spangling frost o'ercrisps the ground, No more forego bewildering sleep To climb with health yon' airy steep. When deep'ning snows oppress the plain The birds no more their boon obtain; The red-breast hovering round your doors No more his stated mess implores, Where all that needed found relief, No tearful eye laments their grief; No lenient hand dispels their pain; Fainting they sue, yet sue in vain. But though the scenes you now deplore With heart and eye be your's no more; Though now each long known object seen Unreal as the morning's dream, You still with retrospective glance, Or 'rapt in some poetic trance, At will may every charm renew; Each smiling prospect still review: Through memory's power and fancy's aid The pictur'd phantoms ne'er shall fade. And, oh! where'er your footsteps roam, Where'er you fix your future home, May joys attending crown the past And heaven's best mansion be your last! WHEN HEN day declining sheds a milder gleam, What time the May-fly haunts the pool or stream; Epist. VIII. EPISTLES DESCRIPTIVE, &c. Whence your return, by such nice instinct led 67 While o'er the cliff th' awaken'd churn-owl hung Through the still gloom protracts his chattering song; While high in air and pois'd upon his wings, As fancy warms, a pleasing kind of pain Steals o'er each cheek, and thrills the creeping vein ! Each rural sight, each sound, each smell combine; The tinkling sheep-bell, or the breath of kine; |