32. 33. THE POPLAR FIELD CLXXXIII. The poplars are fell'd; farewell to the shade Twelve years have elapsed since I first took a view And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade! The blackbird has fled to another retreat 5 Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat; 10 My fugitive years are all hasting away TO A MOUSE W. Cowper On turning her up in her nest, with the plough, Wee, sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, O what a panic's in thy breastie ! 15 20 CLXXXIV. G.T. 111. Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee 5 I doubt na, whiles, but thou may thieve; 'S a sma' request: I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave, Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! An' bleak December's winds ensuin' Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste An' cozie here, beneath the blast, Till, crash! the cruel coulter past That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble ■ To thole the winter's sleety dribble 40 An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain, Still thou art blest, compared wi' me! An' forward, tho' I canna see. R. Burns 45 34. 35. CLXXXV A WISH Mine be a cot beside the hill; A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear; The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch Around my ivied porch shall spring The village-church among the trees, S. Rogers 5 10 15 CLXXXVI. ODE TO EVENING If aught of oaten stop or pastoral song Thy springs, and dying gales ; O Nymph reserved,-while now the bright-hair'd sun 5 With brede ethereal wove, O'erhang his wavy bed; Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-eyed bat Or where the beetle winds His small but sullen horn, As oft he rises midst the twilight path, Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum,— To breathe some soften'd strain 10 15 Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening vale, For when thy folding-star arising shows Who slept in buds the day, 20 And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still, The pensive Pleasures sweet, Prepare thy shadowy car. Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene; Whose walls more awful nod By thy religious gleams. Or, if chill blustering winds or driving rain And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires ; The gradual dusky veil. While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont, While Summer loves to sport While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves; Affrights thy shrinking train And rudely rends thy robes So long, regardful of thy quiet rule, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace, Thy gentlest influence own, And love thy favourite name! 26 30 335 40 45 50 W. Collins 36. CLXXXVII. ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower 5 10 Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade 15 The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 20 For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not ambition mock their useful toil, |