472

RURAL SCENES, &c.

2. At eve the ploughman leaves the task of day,
And, trudging homeward, whistles on the way:
And the big-udder'd cows with patience stand,
And wait the strokings of the damsel's hand.

GAY'S Rural Sports.

to spray,

3. See yon gay goldfinch hop from spray
Who sings a farewell to the parting day;
At large he flies, o'er hill, and dale and down:
Is not each bush, each spreading tree his own?
And canst thou think he'll quit his native brier
For the bright cage o'erarch'd with golden wire?

GAY'S Dione.

4. Here, too, dwells simple truth; plain innocence;
Unsullied beauty; sound, unbroken youth,
Patient of labour, with a little pleas'd;
Health ever blooming; unambitious toil;
Calm contemplation, and poetic ease.

THOMSON'S Seasons.

5. Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening's close,
Up yonder hill the village murmur rose ;
There as I pass'd with careless steps and slow,
The mingling notes came soften'd from below:
The swain responsive to the milkmaid sung;
The sober herd that low'd to meet their young;
The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool;
The playful children, just let loose from school;
The watch-dog's voice, that bay'd the whispering wind,
And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind:
These all in sweet confusion sought the shade,
And fill'd each pause the nightingale had made.

GOLDSMITH'S Deserted Village. 6. Yellow sheaves from rich Ceres the cottage had crown'd, Green rushes were strew'd on the floor;

The casement's sweet woodbine crept wantonly round,
And deck'd the sod seats at the door.

CUNNINGHAM.

7. God made the country, and man made the town.

8. Adieu, the city's ceaseless hum,

COWPER'S Task.

The haunts of sensual life adieu!
Green fields, and silent glens! we come
To spend this bright spring day with you!

J. ALDRICH.

9. O! how canst thou renounce the boundless store
Of charms which nature to her votary yields?
The warbling woodland, the resounding shore,
The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields?

10. Anon, to change the homely scene, Lest it pall while too serene,

To the gay city we remove,

BEATTIE'S Minstrel.

Where other things there are to love,
And, grac'd by novelty, we find

The city's concourse to our mind.

From the Spanish.

11. The cold, heartless city, with its forms
And dull routine; its artificial manners,
And arbitrary rules; its cheerless pleasures,
And mirthless masquing.

SABBATH.

J. N. BARKER.

1. How still the morning of the hallow'd day!
Mute is the voice of rural labour; hush'd

The ploughboy's whistle, and the milkmaid's song.
The scythe lies glittering in the dewy wreath
Of tedded grass, mingled with faded flowers,
That yesternoon bloom'd waving in the breeze.
The faintest sound attracts the ear- - the hum
Of early bee the trickling of the dew

The distant bleating midway up the hill.
Calmness seems thron'd on yon unmoving hill.

40*

GRAHAME

474

SADNESS-SAFETY - SAILING.

2. With dove-like wings peace o'er yon village broods;

The dizzing mill-wheel rests; the anvil's din
Has ceas'd-all, all around is quietness.

3. Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man's day: On other days the man of toil is doom'd

GRAHAME.

To eat his joyless bread, lonely- the ground
Both seat and board screen'd from the winter's cold
And summer's heat, by neighbouring hedge or tree;
But on this day, embosom'd in his home,

He shares the frugal meal with those he loves.

SADNESS. (See CARE.)

GRAHAME.

SAFETY.

1. From a safe port 't is easy to give counsel.

SHAKSPEARE.

2. But when men think they most in safety stand, The greatest peril often is at hand.

DRAYTON.

3. What though the sea be calm? Trust to the shore; Ships have been drown'd, where late they danc'd before.

4 Happy were men, if they but understood There is no safety but in doing good.

HERRICK.

FOUNTAIN.

SAILING-SHIP.

1. You might have seen the frothy billows fry Under the ship, as thorough them she went,

That seem'd the waves were unto ivory,

Or ivory unto the waves were sent.

SPENSER'S Fairy Queen.

2. So ships in winter seas now sliding sink Adown the steepy wave, then toss'd on high Ride on the billows, and defy the storm.

3.

Behold the threaden sails,

SOMERVILE'S Chase.

Borne with the invisible and creeping wind,
Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea,
Breasting the lofty surge.

SHAKSPEARE.

4. Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows, While, proudly riding o'er the azure realm,

In gallant trim the gilded vessel

goes.

BYRON'S Childe Harold.

5. The sails were fill'd, and fair the light winds blew,
As glad to bear him from his native home;
And fast the white rocks faded from his view,
And soon were lost in circumambient foam.

BYRON'S Childe Harold.

6. She walks the waters like a thing of life, And seems to dare the elements to strife.

BYRON'S Corsair.

7. The cloven billow flash'd from off her prow, In furrows form'd by that majestic plough.

BYRON'S Island.

8. She comes majestic with her swelling sails,
The gallant bark; along her watery way
Homeward she drives before the favouring gales;
Now flirting at their length the streamers play,
And now they ripple with the ruffling breeze.

SOUTHEY.

SAILOR.

1. O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free,
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
Survey our empire, and behold our home!

BYRON'S Corsair.

476

SATIETY- SURFEIT.

2. Long have they voyag'd o'er the distant seas;
And what a heart-delight they feel at last-
So many toils, so many dangers past -
To view the port desir'd, he only knows
Who on the stormy deep for many a day
Hath toss'd, aweary of his ocean way,

And watch'd all-anxious every wind that blows.

His generous spirit - his contempt of danger-
His firmness in the gale, the wreck, and strife;
And, though a wild and reckless ocean-ranger,
God grant he make that port, when life is o'er,
Where storms are hush'd, and billows break no more!
REV. WALTER COLTON.

SATIETY-SURFEIT.

1. As surfeit is the father of much fast,
So every scope, by the immoderate use,
Turns to restraint.

SHAKSPEARE.

2. They surfeited with honey; and began
To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof little
More than a little is by much too much.

SHAKSPEARE.

3. Childe Harold bask'd him in the noontide sun, Disporting there like any other fly;

Nor deem'd, before his little day was done,

One blast might chill him into misery.
But long ere scarce a third of his pass'd by,
Worse than adversity the Childe befel:
He felt the fulness of satiety.

BYRON'S Childe Harold.