218 ENGLISH SCENERY. 



could not drop a poet out of the elouds upon any 

 part of it I have seen, where, within five minutes' 

 walk, he would not find himself a paradise." Such 

 language is very pleasing to our English ears, and 

 more especially coming from an American tra- 

 veller, who had passed more than two years in 

 inspecting, with no inattentive or unknowing eye, 

 Turkey, Greece, Italy, Switzerland, and France. 



I am indebted to an unknown author for 

 the following lines, which prettily descant on our 

 humble habitations, the peculiar features of our 

 rural scenery, and happily paint that particular 

 characteristic of our country, the love of our own 

 untranslatable word, comfort. 



Beside a lane diverging from a wood. 



Where tall tree-tops o'er-roof the grassy way, 

 A white- wash' d cot in calm seclusion stood, 



And, sloping down to face the southern ray, 

 Before the door a well-stock'd garden lay ; 



Clean-weeded beds by winding walks outspread, 

 Where household roots were ripening day by day, 



And blossom'd beans delicious perfume shed, 

 While fruit trees, bending low, arch'd closely overhead. 



All round the place a look of comfort beam'd, 



True English comfort, homely, calm, and sweet ! 

 The very trees, amid their stillness, seem'd 



With quiet joy their leafy friends to meet, 

 And on the roses smil'd beside their feet ; 



The shaded lane, the soft and balmy air, 

 The breath of flowers new-waked the morn to greet j 



All seem'd so pure, so innocent, and fair, 

 That in such scenes as these man never need despair. 



