334 POEMS. 



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 the 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 embrown the dimpling brook, 

 The ruin'd Convent lies ; here wont to dwell 

 The lazy canon midst his cloister'd cell ;* 

 While papal darkness brooded o'er the land, 

 Ere Reformation made her glorious stand : 

 Still oft at eve belated shepherd-swains 

 See the cowl'd spectre skim the folded plains. 



To the high Temple would my stranger go,+ 

 The mountain-brow commands the woods below ; 

 In Jewry first this order found a name, 

 When madding Croisades set the world in flame ; 

 When western climes, urged on by Pope and priest, 

 Pour'd forth their millions o'er the deluged East : 

 Luxurious knights, ill suited to defy 

 To mortal fight Turcestan chivalry. 



Nor be the Parsonage by the muse forgot ; 

 The partial bard admires his native spot ; 

 Smit with its beauties, loved, as yet a child, 

 (Unconscious why) its scapes grotesque, and wild. 

 High on a mound th' exalted gardens stand, 

 Beneath, deep valleys scoop'd by Nature's hand. 

 A Cobham here, exulting in his art, 

 Might blend the General's with the Gardener's part ; 

 Might fortify with all the martial trade 

 Of rampart, bastion, fosse, and palisade ; 

 Might plant the mortar with wide threatening bore, 

 Or bid the mimic cannon seem to roar. 



Now climb the steep, drop now your eye below, 

 Where round the blooming village orchards grow \ 



* The ruins of a priory, founded by Peter de Bupibus, Bishop of "Winchester. 



t The remains of a preceptory of the Knights Templars ; at least it was a farm 

 dependent upon some preceptory of that order. I find it was a preceptory, called 

 the Preceptory of Sudington ; now called Southington. 



