NEW LETTERS. 



THE INVITATION: TO SAMUEL BARKER. 



Ne percuncteris, fundus meus, optime Quincti, 

 Arvo pascat herum, an baccis opulentet olivas, 

 Pomisne et pratis, an amicta vitibus ulmo : 

 Scribetur tibi forma loquaciter, et situs agri. 



See, Selborne spreads her boldest beauties round, 

 The vary'd valley, and the mountain-ground 

 Wildly majestic : what is all the pride 

 Of fiats, with loads of ornament supply 'd ? 

 Unpleasing, tasteless, impotent expence, 

 Compar'd with Nature's rude magnificence. 



Oft on some evening, sunny, soft, and still, 



The Muse shall hand thee to the beech-grown hill, 



To spend in tea the cool, refreshful hour. 



Where nods in air the pensile, nest-like bower : 



Or where the Hermit hangs his straw-clad cell, 



Emerging gently from the leafy dell : 



Romantic spot ! from whence in prospect lies 



Whate'er of landscape charms our feasting eyes ; 



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