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Of Nature's forms produce. This fond desire Among the trees; and there, beneath yon ridge
Prompts me to sing the lonely sylvan scenes Of piny rocks, his conqʻring navy moord,
Of Amwell; which, so oft in early youth,

With idle sails furl'd on the yard, and oars
While novelty enhanc'd their native charms, Recumbent on the flood, and streamers gay
Gave rapture to my soul; and often, still,

Triumphant flutt'ring on the passing winds. On life's calm moments shed serener joy.

In fear, the shepherd on the lonely heath Descriptive Muse! whose hand along the stream Tended his scanty flock; the ploughman turn'd Of ancient. Thames, through Richmond's shady In fear his hasty furrow : oft the din groves,

Of hostile arms alarm'd the ear, and flames [far And Sheen's fair vallies, once thy Thomson led'; Of plunder'd towns through night's thick gloum from And once o'er green Carmarthen's woody dales, Gleam'd dismal on the sight: till Alfred came, And sunny landscapes of Campania's plain, Till Alfred, father of his people, came, Thy other favour'd bard?; thou, who so late, Lee's rapid tide into new channels turn'd, In bowers by Cient's wild peaks 3, to Shenstone's ear And left aground the Danian fleet, and forc'd Didst bring sweet strains of rural melody,

The foe to speedy flights. Then Freedom's voice (Alas, no longer heard !)-vouchsafe thine aid : Reviv'd the drooping swain; then Plenty's band From all our rich var eties of view,

Recloth'd the desert fields, and Peace and Love What best may please, assist me to select,

Sat smiling by; as now they smiling sit, With art dispose, with energy describe,

Obvious to Fancy's eye, upon the side And its full image on the mind impress.

Of yon bright sunny theatre of bills, And ye, who e'er in these delightful fields Where Bengeo's villas rise, and Ware-park's lawns Consum’d with me the social hour, while I Spread their green surface, interspers'd with groves Your walk conducted o'er their loveliest spots, Of broad umbrageous oak, and spiry pine, And on their fairest objects fix'd your sight; Tall elm, and linden pale, and blossom'd thorn, Accept this verse, which may to memory call Breathing mild fragrance, like the spicy gales That social hour, and sweetly vary'd walk ! Of Ind an islands. On the ample brow,

And thou, by strong connubial union mine; Where that white temple rears its pillar'd front Mine, by the stronger union of the heart;

Half hid with glossy foliage, many a chief In whom the loss of parents and of friends, Renown'd for martial deeds, and many a bard And her, the first fair partner of my joys,

Renown'd for song, have pass'd the rural hour. All recompens'd I find; whose presence cheers The gentle Fanshaw there, from "noise of camps, The soft domestic scene; Maria, come!

From court's disease retir'd 7,” delighted view'd The country calls us forth; blithe Summer's hand The gaudy garden fam'd in Wotton's page”; Sheds sweetest flowers, and Morning's brightest smile Or in the verdant maze, or cool arcade, Illumines earth and air'; Maria, come !

Sat musing, and from smooth Italian strains By winding pathways through the waving corn, The soft (luarini's amorous lore transfus'd We reach the airy point that prospect yields,

Into rude British verse. The warrior's arm Not vast and awful, but confin'd and fair;

Now rests from toil; the poet's tuneful tongue Not the black mountain and the foamy main ; Not the throng'd city and the busy port; But pleasant interchange of soft ascent,

5 Towards the latter end of the year 879, the And level plain, and growth of shady woods, Danes advanced to the borders of Mercia, and And twining course of rivers clear, and sight erected two forts at Hertford on the Lee, for the Of rural towns and rural cots, whose roofs

security of their ships, which they had brought up Rise scattering round, and animate the whole. that river. Here they were attacked by the Lon

Far tow'rds the west, close under sheltering hills, doners, who were repulsed. But Alfred advanced In verdant meads, by Lee's cerulean stream, with his army, and viewing the nature of their situHertford's grey towers 4 ascend; the rude remains ation, turned the course of the stream, so that their Of high antiquity, from waste escap'd

vessels were left on dry ground; a circumstance Of envious time, and violence of war.

which terrified them to such a degree, that they For war there once, so tells th' historic page, abandoned their forts, and, flying towards the Severn, Led Desolation's steps: the hardy Dane,

were pursued by Alfred as far as Quatbridge. By avarice lur'd, o'er ocean's stormy wave, Smollet's Hist. of England, Svo. edit. vol. i. p. 182. To ravage Albion's plains, his fav'rite seat,

o Sir Richard Fanshaw, translator of Guarini's There fix'd awhile; and there his castles rear'd Pastor Fido, the Lusiad of Camoens, &c. He was

son of sir Henry Fanshaw of Ware-park, and is said

to have res ded much there. He was ambassador ' Thomson, author of the Seasons, resided part to Portugal, and afterwards to Spain, and died at of his life near Richmond.

Madrid in 1666. His body was brought to Eng2 Dyer, author of Grongar Hill; The Ruins of land, and interred in Ware church, where his moRome; and that excellent neglected poem, The nument is still existing. In Cibber's Lives of the Fleece.

Poets, it is erroneously asserted that he was buried 3 The Clent-hills adjoin to Hagley-park, and are in All-Saints church, Hertford. not far distant from the Leasowes.

? The words marked with inverted commas are * In the beginning of the heptarchy, the town part of a stanza of Fanshaw's. of Hertford was accounted one of the principal 8 See Reliquiæ Wottonianæ, where the author cities of the East Saxons, where the kings of that makes a particular mention of the garden of sir province often kept their courts, and a parliamen- Henry Fanshaw at Ware-park, “as a delicate and tary council, or national synod, was held, Sept. 24, diligent curiosity,” remarkable for the nice arrange673. Chauncy's Hertfordshire, p. 237.

ment of its flowers.

.

In silence lies; frail man his lov'd domains Mix'd with thick foliage, form'd a mimic sky
Soon quits for ever! they themselves, by course Of grateful shade (as oft in Agra's streets
Of natire often, or caprice of art,

The silken canopy from side to side
Experience change: even here, 't is said of old Extends to break the Sun's impetuous ray,
Steep rocky cliffs rose where yon gentle slopes While monarchs pass beneath); there sat the fair,
Mix with the vale; and fluctuating waves

A glittering train on costly carpets rang'd, Spread wide, where that rich vale with golden flowers A group of beauties all in youthful prime, Shines; and where yonder winding crystal rill Of various feature and of various grace! Slides through its smooth shorn margin, to the brink The pensive languish, and the sprightly air, Of Chadwell's azure pool. From Chadwell's pool The engaging smile, and all the nameless charms To London's plains, the Cambrian artist brought Which transient hope, or fear, or grief, or joy, His ample aqueduct'; suppos'd a work

Wak'd in th' expressive eye, th' enamour'd heart Of matchless skill, by those who ne'er had heard Of each young hero rous'd to daring deeds. How, from Preneste's heights and Anio's banks, Nor this aught strange, that those whom love inBy Tivoli, to Roine's imperial walls,

Prov'd ev'ry means the lovely sex to please: (spir'd On marble arches came the limpid store,

is strange, indeed, how custom thus could teach And out of jasper rocks in bright cascades

The tender breast complacence in the sight With never-ceasing murmur gush’d; or how, Of barb'rous sport, where friend from band of friend To Lusitanian Ulysippo's towers 10,

The fatal wound full oft receiv'd, and fell The silver current o'er Alcant'ra's vale

A victim to false glory; as that day Rollid high in air, as ancient poet's feign'd

Fell gallant Pembroke, while his pompous show Eridanus to roll through Heaven: to these

Ended in silent gloom '3. One pitying tear Not sordid lucre, but the honest wish

Tu human frailty paid ; my roving sight Of future fame, or care for public weal,

Pursues its pleasing course o'er neighb'ring hills, Existence gave; and unconfind, as dew

Where frequent hedge-rows intersect rich fields Falls from the hand of Evening on the fields, Of many a different form and different hue, They flow'd for all. Our mercenary stream, Bright with ripe corn, or green with grass, or dark No grandeur boasting, here obscurely glides With clover's purple bloom ; o'er Widbury's mount O'er grassy lawns or under willow shades.

With that fair crescent crown'd of lofty elms, As, through the human form, arterial tubes Its own peculiar boast; and o'er the woods Branch'd every way, minute and more minute, That round immure the deep sequester'd dale The circulating sanguine fluid extend;

Of Langley '4, down whose flow'ry-embroider'd So, pipes innumerable to peopled streets

meads Transmit the purchas'd wave. Old Lee, meanwhile, Swift Ash through pebbly shores meandering rolls, Beneath his mossy grot o'erhung with boughs Elysian scene! as from the living world Of poplar quivering in the breeze, surveys

Secluded quite; for of that world, to him With eye indignant his diminish'd tide 11

Whose wand'rings trace thy winding length, appears That laves yon ancient priory's wall ?, and shows No mark, save one white solitary spire In its clear mirror Ware's inverted roofs.

At distance rising through the tufted treesWare once was known to Fame; to her fair fields Elysian scene! recluse as that, so fam'd Whilotn the Gothic tournament's proud pomp For solitude, by Warwick's ancient walls, Brought Albion's valiant youth and blooming maids : Where under ombrage of the mossy cliff Pleas'd with ideas of the past, the Muse

Victorious Guy, so legends say, reclin'd Bids Pancy's pencil paint the scene, where they His hoary head beside the silver stream, In gilded barges on the glassy stream

In meditation rapt-Elysian scene! Circled the reedy isles, the sportive dance

At ev'ning often, while the setting Sun Along the smooth lawn led, or in the groves On the green summit of thy eastern groves Wander'd conversing, or reclin'd at ease

Pourð full his yellow radiance; while the voice To harmony of lutes, and voices sweet Resign'd th’ enchanted ear ; till sudden heard The silver trumpet's animating sound

13 “ In the 25th of Henry III. on the 27th of Summon'd the champions forth; on stately steeds, June, Gilbert Marshall, earl of Pembroke, a potent In splendid armour clad, the pond'rous lance peer of the realm, proclaimed here (at Ware) a With strenuous hand sustaining, forth they came. disport of running on horseback with lances, which Where gay pavilions rose upon the plain,

was then called a tournament." Chauncy's Hist. Or azure awnings stretch'd from tree to tree, of Hertfordshire.

" At this tournament, the said Gilbert was slain

by a fall from his borse ; Robert de Say, one of his 9 The New River brought from Chadwell, a knights, was killed, and several others wounded.” spring in the meadows between Hertford and Ware, Smollet's Hist. of England. by sir Hugh Middleton, a native of Wales.

14 This delightful retreat, commonly called 10 The ancient name of Lisbon.

Langley-bottom, is situated about half a mile from " A considerable part of the New River water Ware, and the same distance from Amwell. The is derived from the Lee, to the disadvantage of the scene is adapted to contemplation, and possesses navigation on that stream.

such capabilities of improvement, that the genius 12°“ About the 18th of Henry III. Margaret, of a Shenstone might easily convert it to a second countess of Leicester, and lady of the manor, Leasowes. The transition from this solitude to founded a priory for friars in the north part of this Widbury-Hill, is made in a walk of a few minutes, town of Ware, and dedicated the same to St. Fran- and the prospect from that hill, in a fine evening, eis Chauncy's Hertfordshire.

is beautiful beyond description.

Of Zephyr whisp'ring midst the rustling leaves, Delightful habitations! o'er the land
The sound of water murm’ring through the sedge, Dispers’d around, from Waltham's osier'd isles
The turtle's plaintive call, and music soft

To where bleak Nasing's lonely tower o'erlooks Of distant bells, whose ever varying notes

Her verdant fields; from Raydon's pleasant groves In slow sad measure mov'd, combin'd to sooth And Hunsdon's bowers on Stort's irriguous marge, The soul to sweet solemnity of thought;

By Rhye's old walls, to Hodsdon's airy street; Beneath thy branchy bowers of thickest gloom, From Haly', woodland to the flow'ry meads Much on th' imperfect state of man I've mus'd: Of willow-shaded Stansted, and the slope How Pain o'er half his hours her iron reign

Of Amwell's mount, that crown'd with yellow corn Ruthless extends; how Pleasure from the path There from the green flat, softly swelling, shows Of innocence allures his steps; how Hope

Like some bright vernal cloud by Zephyr's breath Directs his eye to distant joy, that flies

Just rais'd above th’horizon's azure bound. His fond pursuit; how Fear his shuddering heart As one long travellid on Italia's plains, Alarms with fancy'd ill; how Doubt and Care The land of pomp and beauty, still his feet Perplex his thought; how soon the tender rose On his own Albion joys to fix again; Of beauty fades, the sturdy oak of streugth So my pleas'd eye, which o'er the prospect wide Declines to earth, and over all our pride

Has wander'd round, and various objects mark’d, Stern Time triumphant stands. From gen'ral fate On Amwell rests at last, its fav'rite scene! To private woes then oft has memory passid, How picturesque the view! where up the side And mourn’d the loss of many a friend belov'd ; Of that steep bank, her roofs of russet thatch Of thee, De Horne, kind, gen'rous, wise, and good! Rise mix'd with trees, above wbose swelling tops And thee, my Turner, who, in vacant youth, Ascends the tall church tow'r, and loftier still Here oft in converse free, or studious search The bill's extended ridge. How picturesque ! Of classic lore, accompanied my walk!

Where slow beneath that bank the silver stream From Ware's green bowers, to Devop's myrtle vales, Glides by the flowery isle, and willow groves Remov'd a while, with prospect op'ning fair Wave on its northern verge, with trembling tufts Of useful life and honour in his view;

Of osier intermix'd. How picturesque
As falls the vernal bloom before the breath The slender group of airy elm, the clump
Of blasting Eurus, immature he fell!

Of pollard oak, or ash, with ivy brown
The tidings reach'd my ear, and in my breast, Entwin'd; the walnut's gloomy breadth of boughs,
Aching with recent wounds is, new anguish wak’d. The orchard's ancient fence of rugged pales,
When melancholy thus has chang'd to grief, The haystack's dusky cone, the moss-grown shed,
That grief in soft forgetfulness to lose,

The clay-built barn; the elder-shaded cot, I've left the gloom for gayer scenes, and sought Whose white-wash'd gable prominent through green Through winding paths of venerable shade, Of waving branches shows, perchance inscrib'd The airy brow where that tall spreading beech With some past owner's name, or rudely grac'd O’ertops surrounding groves, up rocky steeps, With rustic dial, that scarcely serves to mark Tree over tree dispos’d; or stretching far

Time's ceaseless flight; the wall with mantling vines Their shadowy coverts down th’indented side O'erspread, the porch with climbing woodbine Of fair corn-fields; or pierc'd with sunny glades,

wreath'd, That yield the casual glimpse of flowery meads And under sheltering eves the sunny bench, And shining silver rills; on these the eye

Where brown hives range, whose busy tenants fill, Then wont to expatiate pleas'd; or more remote With drowsy hum, the little garden gay, [flowers, Survey'd yon vale of Lee, in verdant length Whence blooming beans, and spicy herbs, and Of level lawn spread out to Kent's blue bills, Exbale around a rich perfume! Here rests And the proud range of glittring spires that rise The empty wain ; there idle lies the plough: In misty air on Thames's crowded shores.

By Summer's hand upharness'd, here the steed, How beautiful, how various, is the view

Short ease enjoying, crops the daisy'd lawn; Of these sweet pastoral landscapes ! fair, perhaps, Here bleats the nursling lamb, the heifer there As those renown'd of old, from Tabor's height, Waits at the yard-gate lowing. By the road, Or Carmel seen; or those, the pride of Greece, Where the neat ale-house stands, (so once stood Tempè or Arcady; or those that grac'd

Deserted Auburn! in immortal song [thine, The banks of clear Elorus, or the skirts

Consign'd to fame 16) the cottage sire recounts Of thymy Hybla, where Sicilia's isle

The praise he earn'd, when cross the field he drew Smiles on the azure main ; there once was heard The straightest furrow, or neatest built the rick, The Muse's lofty lay. How beautiful,

Or led the reaper band in sultry noons How various is yon view! delicious hills (streams With unabating strength, or won the prize Bounding smooth vales, smooth sales by winding | At many a crowded wake. Beside her door, Divided, that here glide through grassy banks The cottage matron whirls her circling wheel, In open sun, there wander under shade

And jocund chants her lay. The cottage maid Of aspen tall, or ancient elm, whose boughs Feeds from her loaded lap her mingled train O'erhang grey castles, and romantic farms, Of clamorous hungry fowls; or o'er the style And humble cots of happy shepherd swains. Leaning, with downcast look, the artless tale Delightful habitations with the song

Of ev'ning courtship hears. The sportive truop Of birds melodious charm’d, and bleat of flocks Of cottage children on the grassy waste From upland pastures heard, and low of kine Mix in rude gambols, or the bounding ball Grazing the rushy mead, and mingled sounds Circle from band to hand, or rustic notes Of falling waters and of whisp'ring winds

16 See The Deserted Village, a beautiful poem, 15 See Elegy written at Amwell, 1768, p. 462. by the late Dr. Goldsmith. VOL. XVII.

Ꭿ h

Wake on their pipes of jointed reed: while near Who long had sought her love the gentle bard The careful shepherd's frequent-falling strokes Sleeps here, by Fame forgotten; (fickle Fame Fix on the fallow lea his hurdled fold.

Too oft forgets her fav’rites !) By his side Such rural life! so calm, it little yields Sleeps gentle Hassal '9, who with tenderest care Of interesting act, to swell the page

Here watch'd his village charge; in nuptial bonds Of history or soug; yet much the soul

Their hands oft join'd; oft heard, and oft reliev'd Its sweet simplicity delights, and oft

Their little wants; oft heard, and oft compos'd, From noise of busy towns, to fields and groves, Sole arbiter, their little broils; oft urg'd The Muse's sons have fled to find repose.

Their flight from folly and from vice; and oft Fam'd Walton '7, erst, the ingenious fisher swain, Dropp'd on their graves the tear, to early worth Oft onr fair haunts explor'd; upon Lee's shore, Or ancient friendship due. In dangerous days, Beneath some green tree oft his angle laid, When Death's fell fury, pale-ey'd Pestilence, His sport suspending to admire their charms. Glar'd horrour round, his duty he discharg'd He, who in verse his country's story told 18, (scene, Unterrified, unhurt; and here, at length, Here dwelt awhile; perchance here sketch'd the Clos'd his calm inoffensive useful life Where his fair Argentile, from crowded courts In venerable age: her life with him For pride self-banish’d, in sequester'd shades His faithful consort clos'd; on Earth's cold breast Sojourn'd disguis'd, and met the slighted youth Both sunk to rest together. On the turf,

Whence Time's rude grasp has torn their 'rustic

tombs, 1? Isaac Walton, author of The Complete Angler, I strew fresh flowers, and make a moment's pause an ingenious biographer, and no despicable poet. Of solemn thought; then seek th' adjacent spot, 'The scene of his Anglers' Dialogues is the vale of From which, through these broad lindens' verdant Lee, between Tottenham and Ware; it seems to The steeple's Gothic wall and window dim [arch, have been a place he much frequented: he parti- In perspective appear; then homeward turn cularly mentionis Amwell Hill.

By where the Muse, enamour'd of our shades, 18 William Warner, author of Albion's England, Deigns still her fav'ring presence; where my friend, an historical poem; an episode of which, entitled The British Tasso -o, oft from busy scenes Argentile and Curan, has been frequently reprint- To rural calm and letter'd ease retires. ed, and is much admired by the lovers of old Eng As some fond lover leaves his fav'rite nymph, lish poetry. The ingenious Dr. Percy, who has Oft looking back, and ling'ring in her view, inserted this piece in his collection, observes, that So now reluctant this retreat I leave, “ though Warner's name is so seldom mentioned, Look after look indulging; on the right, his contemporaries ranked him on a level with Up to yon airy battlement's broad top Spenser, and called them the Homer and Vir- Half veil'd with trees, that, from th’acelivious steep gil of their age;" that “Warner was said to have Jut like the pendent gardens, fam'd of old, been a Warwickshire man, and to have been edu- Beside Euphrates' bank; then, on the left, cated at Magdalen Hall; that, in the latter part of his life, he was retained in the service of Henry Cary, lord Hunsdon, to whom he dedicates his 19 Thomas Hassal, vicar of Amwell; he kept the poem; but that more of his history is not known.” | above mentioned parish register with uncommon care Mrs. Cooper, in her Muses' Library, after highly and precision, enriching it with many entertaining applauding his poetry, adds, “ What were the cir- anecdotes of the parties registered. He performed cumstances and accidents of his life, we have his duty in the most hazardous circumstances, it aphardly light enough to conjecture; any more than, pearing that the plague twice raged in the village by his dedication, it appears he was in the ser during his residence there ; in 1603, when twenty, vice of the lord Hunsdon, and acknowledges very six persons, and in 1625, when twenty-two persons gratefully, both father and son, for his patrons and died of it, and were buried in his church-yard. benefactors.”---By the following extract from the The character here given of him must be allowed, parish register of Amwell, it may be reasonably strictly speaking, to be imaginary; but his comconcluded, that Warner resided for some time at position, in the said register, appeared to me to that village; and, as his profession of an attorney breathe such a spirit of piety, simplicity, and beneis particularly mentioned, it is pretty evident that, volence, that I almost think myself authorised to whatever dependence he might have on lord Huns- assert that it was his real one. He himself is redon, it could not be in the capacity of a menial gistered by his son Edmund Hassal, as follows: servant. Though Warner's merit, as a poet, may

“ Thomas Hassal, vicar of this parish, where he have been too highly rated, it was really not in- had continued resident fifty-seven years, seven considerable; his Argentile and Curan has many months, and sixteen days, in the reigns of queen beauties; but it has also the faults common to the Elizabeth, king James, and king Charles, departed compositions of his age, especially a most disgust- this life September 24th, Thursday, and was buried ing indelicacy of sentiment and expression. September 26th, Saturday. His body was laid in the

“ Ma. William Warner, a man of good yeares chancel of this church, under the priests or marble and honest reputation, by his profession an attur- stone. Ætatis 84. Non erat ante, nec erit post te ney at the Common Please, author of Albion's similis. Edmund Hassal." Register of Amwell, England; dying suddenly in the night in his bedde, 1637. without any former complaynt or sicknesse, on Elizabeth Hassal, wife of the said Thomas HasThursday night, beeing the 9th of March, was sal, died about the same time, aged 78 years 8 buried the Saturday following, and lieth in the months, married 46 years and 4 months. church at the npper end, under the stone of Gwal 20 Mr. Hoole, translator of Tasso's Jerusalem ter Fader.” Parish register of Amwell, 1608-9. Delivered.

Down to those shaded cots, and bright expanse Might permanence have lent !--Attachment strong Of water softly sliding by: once, where

Springs from delight bestow'd; to me delight That bright expanse of water softly slides, Long ye have given, and I have given you praise ! O’erhung with shrubs that fringe the chalky rock, A little fount pour'd forth its gurgling rill, In finty channel trickling o'er the green, From Emma nam'd; perhaps some sainted maid

AMOEBAEAN ECLOGUES. For holy life rever'd; to such, erewhile,

1
Fond Superstition many a pleasant grove,
And limpid spring, was wont to consecrate.

ADVERTISEMENT.
Of Emma's story nought Tradition speaks ;
Conjecture, who, behind Oblivion's veil,

Much of the rural imagery which our country Along the doubtful past delights to stray,

affords, has already been introduced in poetry; Boasts now, indeed, that from her well the place

but many obvious and pleasing appearances seem Receiv'd its appellation ?l, --Thou, sweet Vill,

to have totally escaped notice. To describe these Farewell ! and ye, sweet fields, where Plenty's horn is the business of the following Eclogues. The Pours liberal boons, and Health propitious deigns

plan of the Carmen Amoebaeum, or responsive Her cheering smile! you not the parching air

verse of the ancients, inconsistent as it may be Of arid sands, you not the vapours chill

deemed with modern manners, was preferred on Of humid fens, annoy ; Favonius' wing,

this occasion, as admitting an arbitrary and desulFrom off your thyme-banks and your trefoil meads, tory disposition of ideas, where it was found diffiWafts balmy redolence; robust and gay

cult to preserve a regular connection.
Your swains industrious issue to their toil,
Till your rich glebe, or in your granaries store
Its gen'rous produce : annual ye resound

ECLOGUE I.
The ploughman's song, as he through reeking soil
Guides slow his shining share; ye annual hear

RURAL SCENERY; OR, THE DESCRIBERS.
The shouts of harvest, and the prattling train
Of cheerful gleaners:—and th' alternate strokes

December's frost had bound the fields and streams, Of loud fails echoing from your loaded barns, And noon's bright Sun effus’d its cheerful beams: The pallid Morn in dark November wake.

Where woodland, northward, screen'd a pleasant But, happy ye are, in marks of wealth

plain, And population; not for these, or aught

And on dry fern-banks brows'd the fleecy train, Beside, wish I, in hyperbolic strains

Two gentle youths, whom rural scenes could please, Of vain applause, to elevate your fame

Both skill'd to frame the tuneful rhyme with ease, Above all other scenes; for scenes as fair

Charm'd with the prospect, slowly stray'd along, Have charm'd my sight, but transient was the view: Themselves amusing with alternate song. You, through all seasons, in each varied hour For observation happiest, oft my steps Have travers'd o'er; oft Fancy's eye has seen These pollard oaks their tawny leaves retain, Gay Spring trip lightly on your lovely lawns, These hardy hornbeams yet unstripp'd remain; To wake fresh flowers at moru; and Summer spread | The wintry groves all else admit the view His listless limbs, at noon-tide, on tbe marge Through naked stems of many a vary'd hue. Of smooth translucent pools, where willows green Gave shade, and breezes from the wild mint's bloom Brought odour exquisite ; oft Fancy's ear, Yon shrubby slopes a pleasing mixture show; Deep in the gloom of evening woods, has heard There the rough elm and smooth white privet grow, The last sad sigh of Autumn, when his throne Straight shoots of ash with bark of glossy grey, To Winter he resign'd; oft Fancy's thought, Red cornel twigs, and maple's russet spray. In ecstasy, where from the golden east, Or dazzling south, or crimson west, the Sun A different lustre o'er the landscape threw, These stony steeps with spreading moss abound, Some Paradise has form'd, the blissful seat Grey on the trees and green upon the ground; Of Innocence and Beauty! while I wish'd

With tangling brambles ivy interweaves, The skill of Claude, or Rubens, or of him

And bright mezerion' spreads its lust'ring leaves. Whom now on Lavant's banks, in groves that breathe Enthusiasm sublime, the sister nymphs 22 Inspire 23; that, to the idea fair, my hand

vant is the name of the river at Chichester, which

city gave birth to the sublime Collins. 21 In Doomsday book, this village of Amwell is

i Mezerion : laureola sempervirens: vulg. written Emmevelle, perhaps origipally Emma's spurge-laurel. This beautiful little evergreen is Well. When the New River was opened, there frequent among our woods and coppices. Its smooth was a spring here which was taken into that aque- shining leaves are placed on the top of the stems duct. Chadwell, the other source of that river, in circular tufts or clusters. Its flowers are small, evidently received its denomination from the tute- of a light green, and perfume the air at a distance lar saint, St. Chad, who seems to have given name in an agreeable manner. It blows very early in to springs and wells in different parts of England.

mild seasons and warm situations. The common 22 Painting and Poety.

deciduous mezerion, frequently planted in gardens, 23 Mr. George Smith of Chichester, a jastly ce- though very different in appearance, is another lebrated landscape painter, and also a poet. La- species of this genus.

FIRST

SECOND.

FIRST.

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