338 POEMS. 



To spend in tea the cool, refreshing hour, 

 Where nods in air the pensile, nest-like bower ; a 

 Or where the Hermit hangs the straw-clad cell, b 

 Emerging gently from the leafy dell ; 

 By Fancy plann'd ; as once th' inventive maid 

 Met the hoar sage amid the secret shade ; 

 Romantic spot ! from whence in prospect lies 

 Whatever of landscape charms our feasting eyes ; 

 The pointed spire, the hall, the pasture-plain, 

 The russet fallow, or the golden grain, 

 The breezy lake that sheds a gleaming light, 

 'Till all the fading picture fail the sight. 



Each to his task ; all different ways retire, 

 Cull the dry stick ; call forth the seeds of fire ; 

 Deep fix the kettle's props, a forky row, 

 Or give with fanning hat the breeze to blow. 



Whence is this taste, the furnish' d hall forgot, 

 To feast in gardens, or th' unhandy grot ? 

 Or novelty with some new charms surprises, 

 Or from our very shifts some joy arises. 

 Hark, while below the village-bells ring round. 

 Echo, sweet nymph, returns the soften'd sound ; 

 But if gusts rise, the rushing forests roar, 

 Like the tide tumbling on the pebbly shore. . 



Adown the vale, in lone, sequester' d nook, 

 Where skirting woods imbrownthe dimpling brook, 



a A kind of an arbour on the side of a hill. 

 b A grotesque building, contrived by a young gentleman, who 

 ueed on occasion to appear in the character of an hermit. 



