338 



POEMS 



To spend in tea the cool, refreshing hour. 

 Where nods in air the pensile, nest-like bower 

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

 Emerging gently from the leafy dell ; 

 By Fancy planned ; as once th' inventive maid 

 Met the hoar sage amid the secret shade ; 

 Romantic spot ! from whence in prospect lies 

 Whate'er 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 imbrown the dimpling brook, 



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

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

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



