His wafted fpirits quickly, by long toil

Incurring fhort fatigue; and, though our years

As life declines speed rapidly away,

And not a year but pilfers as he goes

Some youthful grace that age would gladly keep; A tooth or auburn lock, and by degrees

Their length and colour from the locks they fpare;
Th' elastic spring of an unwearied foot

That mounts the ftile with eafe, or leaps the fence,
That play of lungs, inhaling and again
Respiring freely the fresh air, that makes
Swift pace or steep afcent no toil to me,
Mine have not pilfer'd yet; nor yet impair'd
My relish of fair profpect; scenes that footh'd
Or charm'd me young, no longer young, I find
Still foothing, and of pow'r to charm me ftill,
And witness, dear companion of my walks,
Whofe arm this twentieth winter I perceive
Fast lock'd in mine, with pleasure fuch as love,
Confirm'd by long experience of thy worth

And well-tried virtues, could alone infpire

Witness a joy that thou haft doubled long.
Thou know'ft my praise of nature most sincere,
And that my raptures are not conjur'd up
To ferve occafions of poetic pomp,

But genuine, and art partner of them all.
How oft upon yon eminence our pace

Has flacken'd to a paufe, and we have born
The ruffling wind, fcarce confcious that it blew,
While admiration, feeding at the eye,

And still unfated, dwelt upon the fcene.

Thence with what pleasure have we just difcern'd
The diftant plough flow moving, and befide
His lab'ring team, that fwerv'd not from the track,
The sturdy fwain diminish'd to a boy!

Here Oufe, flow winding through a level plain
Of fpacious meads with cattle fprinkled o'er,
Conducts the eye along his finuous courfe
Delighted. There, faft rooted in their bank,
Stand, never overlook'd, our fav'rite elms,

That fcreen the herdfman's folitary hut;

While far beyond, and overthwart the stream
That, as with molten glass, inlays the vale,

The floping land recedes into the clouds ;
Displaying on its varied fide the grace

Of hedge-row beauties numberlefs, square tow'r,
Tall fpire, from which the found of cheerful bells
Juft undulates upon the list'ning ear,

Groves, heaths, and fmoking villages, remote.
Scenes must be beautiful which, daily view'd,
Please daily, and whofe novelty furvives

Long knowledge and the fcrutiny of years.
Praife juftly due to those that I describe.

Nor rural fights alone, but rural founds,
Exhilarate the spirit, and restore

The tone of languid Nature. Mighty winds,
That sweep the skirt of fome far-fpreading wood
Of ancient growth, make mufic not unlike
The dafh of ocean on his winding fhore,

And lull the spirit while they fill the mind
Unnumber'd branches waving in the blast,
And all their leaves faft flutt'ring, all at once.
Nor lefs compofure waits upon the roar

Of diftant floods, or on the fofter voice
Of neighb'ring fountain, or of rills that flip
Through the cleft rock, and, chiming as they fall
Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length
In matted grafs, that with a livelier green
Betrays the fecret of their filent course.

Nature inanimate employs fweet founds,

But animated nature sweeter still,

To footh and fatisfy the human ear.

Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one

The live-long night: nor these alone, whofe notes

Nice finger'd art must emulate in vain,

But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime
In still repeated circles, fcreaming loud,

The jay, the pie, and ev'n the boding owl

That hails the rifing moon, have charms for me.

Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh, Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns, And only there, please highly for their fake.

Feace to the artist, whofe ingenious thought
Devis'd the weather-house, that useful toy!
Fearless of humid air and gathering rains,
Forth steps the man-an emblem of myself!
More delicate, his tim'rous mate retires.

When Winter foaks the fields, and female feet,
Too weak to ftruggle with tenacious clay,
Or ford the rivulets, are beft at home,

The task of new difcov'ries falls on me.

At fuch a feason, and with fuch a charge,
Once went I forth; and found, till then unknown,

A cottage, whither oft we fince repair:

'Tis perch'd upon the green-hill top, but clofe
Environ'd with a ring of branching elms

That overhang the thatch, itfelf unfeen
Peeps at the vale below; fo thick befet