Scatters the rear of darknes thin, And to the stack, or the Barn dore, Stoutly Struts bis Dames before, Oft list ning bow the Hounds and born Chearly rouse the slumbring morn, From the side of som Hoar Hill, Through the high wood echoing shrill. Som time walking not unseen By Hedge-row Elms, on Hillocks green, Right against the Eastern gate, Wher the great Sun begins bis State, Rob'd in flames, and Amber light, The clouds in thousand Liveries dight. While the Plowman neer at band, Whistles ore the Furrow'd Land, And the Milkmaid singeth blithe, And the Mower whets his sithe, And every Shepherd tells his tale Under the Hawthorn in the dale. Streit mine eye bath caught new pleasures Whilst the Ĺantskip round it measures, Russet Lawns, and Fallows Gray, Where the nibling flocks do stray, Mountains on whose barren brest The labouring clouds do often rest: Meadows trim with Daisies pide, Shallow Brooks, and Rivers wide. Towers, and Battlements it sees Boosom'd high in tufted Trees, Wher perhaps som beauty lies, The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes. Hard by, a Cottage chimney smokes, Of Hearbs, and other Country Messes, |