O'er hills, through valleys, and by rivers' brink,
E'er fince a truant boy I pafs'd my bounds
T'enjoy a ramble on the banks of Thames :
And still remember, not without regret
Of hours that forrow fince has much endear'd,
How oft, my flice of pocket ftore confum'd,
Still hung'ring pennyless and far from home,
I fed on fcarlet hips and stony haws,
Or blushing crabs, or berries that imbofs
The bramble, black as jet, or floes auftere.
Hard fare! but fuch as boyish appetite
Difdains not, nor the palate undeprav’d
By culinary arts, unfav'ry deems.
No Sofa then awaited my return,
Nor Sofa then I needed. Youth repairs
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 spare;
Th' elaftic fpring of an unwearied foot

That mounts the file with eafe, or leaps the fence,
That play of lungs inhaling and again
Refpiring freely the fresh air, that makes

Swift

pace or fleep afcent no toil to me,
Mine have not pilfer'd yet; nor yet impair'd
My relish of fair profpect: fcenes that footh'd
Or charm'd me young, no longer young, I find
Still foothing and of power to charm me still.

And witnefs, dear companion of my walks,
Whose arm this twentieth winter I perceive
Faft lock'd in mine, with pleafure fuch as love
Confirm'd by long experience of thy worth
And well-tried virtues could alone inspire-
Witness a joy that thou haft doubled long.
Thou know'ft my praise of nature most fincere,
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 pause, and we have borne
The ruffling wind, scarce conscious that it blew,
While admiration feeding at the eye,

And ftill unfated dwelt upon the scene!

Thence with what pleasure have we just discern'd
The diftant plough flow-moving, and befide
His lab'ring team that swerv'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 course
Delighted. There, fast rooted in his bank
Stand, never overlook'd, our fav'rite elms
That screen the herdsman'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;
Difplaying, on its varied fide, the grace
Ut hedge-row beauties numberlefs, fquare tow'r,
Tall fpire, from which the found of cheerful bells

Juft

- Juft undulates upon the lift'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 scrutiny of years.
Praise justly 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 some far-spreading wood
Of ancient growth, make mufic not unlike
The dash of Ocean on his winding shore,
And lull the spirit while they fill the mind,
Unnumber'd branches waving in the blaft,
And all their leaves faft flutt'ring, all at once.
Nor lefs compofure waits upon the roar
Of distant floods, or on the softer voice
Of neighb'ring fountain, or of rills that flip
Through the cleft rock, and chiming as they fall
Upon loofe pebbles, lofe themselves at length
In matted grafs, that with a livelier green
Betrays the fecret of their filent courfe.
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 thefe alone, whose notes

Nice-finger'd Art muft emulate in vain,

But cawing rooks, and kites that fwim fublime
In ftill repeated circles, fcreaming loud,
The jay, the pie, and ev❜n the boding owl

That hails the rifing morn, have charms for me.

N 2

Sound

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

COWPER.

SE C T. CXLVI.

ON THE NECESSITY AND BENEFITS OF

EXERCISE;

AND THE SUPERIORITY OF THE WORKS OF
NATURE TO THOSE OF ART.

BY ceafelefs action, all that is, fubfifts,

Conftant rotation of th' unwearied wheel
That Nature rides upon, maintains her health,
Her beauty, her fertility. She dreads

An instant's pause, and lives but while she moves.
Its own revolvency upholds the world.
Winds from all quarters agitate the air,
And fit the limpid element for ufe,

Elfe noxious: oceans, rivers, lakes, and streams,
All feel the fresh'ning impulfe, and are cleans'd-
By restless undulation; ev'n the oak

Thrives by the rude concuffion of the ftorm.
He feems indeed indignant, and to feel

Th' impreffion of the blast with proud disdain,
Frowning, as if in his unconscious arm

He held the thunder.

But the monarch owes

His firm ftability to what he scorns,

More fixt below, the more disturb'd above.

The law, by which all creatures else are bound,

Binds man the lord of all. Himfelf derives

No

No mean advantage from a kindred caufe,
From ftrenuous toil, his hours of sweetest ease.
The fedentary ftretch their lazy length

When cuftom bids, but no refreshment find ;
For none they nced. The languid eye, the check
Deferted of its bloom, the flaccid, fhrunk,
And wither'd muscle, and the vapid foul,
Reproach their owner with that love of rest,
To which he forfeits ev'n the reft he loves.

Not fuch th' alert and active. Measure life
By its true worth, the comforts it affords,
And theirs alone feems worthy of the name.
Good health, and its affociate in the most,
Good temper; fpirits prompt to undertake,
And not foon spent, though in an arduous task ;
The pow'rs of fancy and strong thought are theirs;
Ev'n age itself seems privileg'd in them

With clear exemption from its own defects.
A sparkling eye beneath a wrinkled front
The vet'ran fhows, and, gracing a grey beard
With youthful fmiles, descends toward the grave
Sprightly, and old almoft without decay.

Like a coy maiden, eafe, when courted moft,
Fartheft retires-an idol, at whose shrine
Who oft'neft facrifice are favour'd least.

The love of Nature and the scenes fhe draws
Is Nature's dictate. Strange! there should be found,
Who, felf-imprifon'd in their proud faloons,
Renounce the odours of the open field
For the unfcented fictions of the loom;
Who, fatisfied with only pencil'd scenes,