Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

Sometimes he fhears his Flock, and fometimes he
Stores up the golden Treasures of the Bee.
He fees the lowing Herds walk o'er the Pläin,
While neighb'ring Hills low back to them again.
And when the Seafon rich as well as gay,
All her Autumnal Bounty does difplay,
How is he pleas'd th'encreafing Ufe to fee
Of his well-trufted Labours bend the Tree;
Of which large Stores, on the glad facred Days,
He gives to Friends, and to the Gods repays.
With how much Joy does he beneath fome Shade,
By aged Trees rev'rend Embraces made,
His careless Head on the fresh Green recline,
His Head uncharg'd with Fear or with Defign.
By him a River conftantly complains,
The Birds above rejoyce with various Strains
And in the folemn Scene their Orgies keep,
Like Dreams mix'd with the Gravity of Sleep.
Sleep, which does always there for Entrance wait,
And nought within against it bars the Gate.
Nor does the rougheft Seafon of the Sky,
Or fullen Jove all Sports to him deny.
He runs the Mazes of the nimble Hare,

His well-mouth'd Dogs glad Concert rends the Air
Or with Game bolder, and rewarded more,

He drives into a Toil the foaming Boar.

Here flies the Hawk t'affault, and there the Net
To intercept the trav'lling Fowl is fet;
And all his Malice, all his Craft is fhewn
In innocent Wars on Birds and Beafts alone.
This is the Life from all Misfortunes free,

From thee, the great one, Tyrant Love! from thee !
And if a chafte and clean, tho' homely Wife,
Be added to the Bleffings of his Life,

Such as Apulia, frugal ftill, does bear,

Who makes her Children and her Houfe her Care,
And joyfully the Work of Life does share ;
Nor thinks her felf too noble or too fine,
To pin the Sheepfold or to milk the Kine :
Who waits at Door against her Husband come
From rural Duties, late and weary'd, home;
Where she receives him with a kind Embrace,
A chearful Fire and a more chearful Face;
And fills the Bowl up to her homely Lord,
And with domestick Plenty loads the Board
Not all the luftful Shell-fish of the Sea,
Drefs'd by the wanton Hand of Luxury;

[ocr errors]

Nor Ortalans, nor Godwits, nor the reft
Of coftly Names that glorify a Feast,

Are at a Prince's Table better Cheer,

Than Lamb and Kid, Lettuce and Olives here.

Coml. Ho

Ah Prince! hadst thou but known the Joys which dwell
With humble Fortunes, thou would'ft curfe thy Royalty.
Had Fate allotted us fome obfcure Village,
Where with Life's Neceffaries bleft alone,

We might have pass'd in Peace our happy Days,
Free from the Cares which Crowns and Empire bring:
No wicked Statesmen would with impious Arts
Have ftriv'n to wreft from us our fmall Inheritance,
Or ftir the fimple Hinds to noisy Faction.

Row. Amb. Stepm

Oh happy, if he knew his happy State,
The Swain, who free from Bus'nefs and Debate,
Receives his eafy Food from Nature's Hand,
And juft Returns of cultivated Land.
No Palace with a lofty Gate he wants,
T'admit the Tides of early Vifitants,
With eager Eyes devouring as they pafs
The breathing Figures of Corinthian Brafs:
No Statues threaten from high Pedestals;
No Perfian Arras hides his homely Walls
With antick Vefts, which thro' their fhady Fold,
Betray the Streaks of ill-dissembled Gold.
He boasts no Wool, whofe native White is dy'd
With purple Poyfon of Affyrian Pride.

No coftly Drugs of Araby defile

With foreign Scents the Sweetness of his Oil.
But eafy Quiet, a fecure Retreat,

A harmless Life, that knows not how to cheat,
With home-bred Plenty the rich Owner blefs,
And rural Pleasures crown his Happiness.
Unvex'd with Quarrels, undisturb'd with Noise,
The Country King his peaceful Realm enjoys:
Cool Grots and living Lakes, the flow'ry Pride
Of Meads, and Streams that thro' the Valley glide,
And fhady Groves that eafy Sleep invite,
And after toilfom Days a foft Repofe at Night.
Wild Beafts of Nature in his Woods abound;
And Youth of Labour patient plough the Ground,
Inur'd to Hard fhip and to homely Fare;
Nor venerable Age is wanting there,
In great Exames to the youthful Train,
Nor are the Gods ador'd with Rites profane.
From hence Area took her Flight, and here
The Prints of her departing Steps appear.

Y

Ye facred Mufes! with whofe Beauty fir'd,
My Soul is ravish'd, and my Brain infpir'd,
Whofe Prieft I am, whofe holy Fillets wear,
Would you your Poet's firft Petition hear!

Give me the Ways of wand'ring Stars to know,
The Depths of Heav'n above and Earth below:
Teach me the various Labours of the Moon,
And whence proceed th'Eclipfes of the Sun;
Why flowing Tides prevail upon the Main,
And in what dark Recefs they shrink again;
What shakes the folid Earth, what Caufe delays
The Summer Nights, and fhortens Winter Days.
But if my heavy Blood reftrain the Flight
Of my free Soul, afpiring to the Height
Of Nature, and unclouded Fields of Light;
My next Defire is, void of Care and Strife,
To lead a foft, fecure, inglorious Life.
A Country Cottage, near a Crystal Flood,
A winding Valley and a lofty Wood.
Some God conduct me to the facred Shades,
Where Bacchanals are fung by Spartan Maids;
Or lift me high to. Hamus hilly Crown,
Or in the Plains of Tempe lay me down;
Or lead me to fome folitary Place,

And cover my Retreat from human Race.

Happy the Man, who studying Nature's Laws,
Thro' known Effects can trace the secret Cause:
His Mind poffeffing in a quiet State,
Fearless of Fortune, and refign'd to Fate.
And happy too is he who decks the Bow'rs
Of Sylvans, and adores the rural Pow'rs:

Whofe Mind, unmov'd, the Bribes of Courts can fee,
Their glitt'ring Baits and purple Slavery;

Nor hopes the People's Praife, nor fears their Frown;
Nor when contending Kindred tear the Crown,

Will fet up one or pull another down.

Without Concern he hears, but hears from far,
Of Tumults, and Defcents, and diftant War:
Nor with a fuperftitious Fear is aw'd

For what befalls at home or what abroad;
Nor envies he the Rich their heapy Store,

Nor his own Peace difturbs with Pity for the Poor.
He feeds on Fruits which, of their own Accord,
The willing Ground and laden Trees afford.
From his lov'd Home no Lucre can him draw,
The Senate's mad Decrees he never faw,
Nor heard at bawling Bars corrupted Law.

G 3

منة

Some

Some to the Seas and fome to Camps refort,
And fome with Impudence invade the Court.
In foreign Countries others feek Renown,
With Wars and Taxes others wafte their own;
And Houfes burn and Houfhold-Gods deface,
To drink in Bowls which glitt'ring Gems enchafe ;
To loll on Couches rich with Citron Steds,
And lay their guilty Limbs in Tyrian Beds.
This Wretch in Earth intombs his golden Ore,
Hov'ring and brooding on his bury'd Store,
Some Patriot Fools to pop'lar Praise afpire,
Or publick Speeches, which worfe Fools admire ;
While from both Benches with redoubled Sounds,
Th'Applaufe of Lords and Commoners abounds.
Some thro' Ambition, or thro' Thirft of Gold,
Have flain their Brothers or their Country fold;
And leaving their fweet Homes, in Exile run
To Lands that lie beneath another Sun.
The Peafant, innocent of all these Ills,
With crooked Ploughs the fertile Fallows tills,
And the round Year with daily Labour fills.
From hence the Country Markets are fupply'd,
Enough remains for houfhold Charge befide,
His Wife and tender Children to fuftain,
And gratefully to feed his dumb deferving Train:
Nor ceafe his Labours till the yellow Field
A full Return of bearded Harvest yield;
A Crop fo plenteous, as the Land to load,

O'ercome the crowded Barn, and lodge on Ricks abroad.
Thus ev'ry fevral Seafon is employ'd,

Some spent in Toil, and fome in Eafe enjoy'd.
The yeaning Ews prevent the fpringing Year,
The loaded Boughs their Fruit in Autumn bear;
'Tis then the Vine her liquid Harveft yields,
Bak'd in the Sun-fhine of afcending Fields.
The Winter comes, and then the falling Maft
For greedy Swine provides a full Repaft:
Then Olives ground in Mills their Fatnefs boaft,
And Winter Fruits are mellow'd by the Froft.
His Cares are eas'd with Intervals of Bliss;
His little Children, climbing for a Kifs,
Welcome their Father's late Return at Night;
His faithful Bed is crown'd with chafte Delight:
His Kine with fwelling Udders ready ftand,
And lowing for the Pail invite the Milker's Hand.
His wanton Kids, with budding Horns prepar'd,
Fight harmless Battles in his homely Yard.

}

Himself in ruftick Pomp, on Holy-days,
To rural Pow'rs a juft Oblation pays;

And on the Green his careless Limbs difplays.

The Hearth is in the midft; the Herdfmen round

The chearful Fire, provoke his Health in Goblets crown'd.
He calls on Bacchue, and propounds the Prize :

The Groom, his Fellow-Groom, at Buts defies,
And bends his Bow, and levels with his Eyes:
Or ftript for Wrestling, fmears his Limbs with Oil,
And watches, with a Trip, his Foe to foil.
Such was the Life the frugal Sabines led:
So Remus and his Brother God were bred ;
From whom th'auftere Etrurian Virtue rofe:
And this rude Life our homely Fathers chofe,
Old Rome from fuch a Race deriv'd her Birth,
(The Seat of Empire, and the conquer'd Earth)
Which now on Sev'n high Hills triumphant reigns,
And in that Compass all the World contains.
E'er Saturn's rebel Son ufurp'd the Skies,
When-Beafts were only flain for Sacrifice.
While peaceful Crete enjoy'd her antient Lord,
E'er founding Hammers forg'd th'inhuman Sword,
E'er hollow Drums were beat, before the Breath
Of brazen Trumpets rung the Peal of Death;
The good old God his Hunger did affwage,

With Roots and Herbs; and gave the Golden Age. Dryd. Virg.
COUNTRY-BUMKIN.

A clownish Mien, a Voice with ruftick Sound,
And ftupid Eyes that ever lov'd the Ground.
The ruling Rod, the Father's forming Care,
Were exercis'd in vain, on Wit's Defpair;
The more inform'd, the lefs he understood,
And deeper funk by flound'ring in the Mud.
His Corn and Cattle were his only Care,
And his fupreme Delight a Country Fair:
His Quarter-Staff, which he could ne'er forfake,
Hung half before, and half behind his Back
He trudg'd along, unknowing what he fought,
And whistled as he went for want of Thought.

COUNTRY-LASS.

;

(& Iphig. Dryd, Cym.

How happy is the harmless Country-Maid,
Who, rich by Nature, fcorns fuperfluous Aid.
Whofe modeft Cloaths no wanton Eyes invite,
But like her Soul, preferve the native White.
Whofe little Store her well-taught Mind does please ;
Not pinch'd with Want, nor cloy'd with wanton Eafe.

G 4

Who

« AnteriorContinuar »