NEW LETTERS. 
XV 
Now climb the steep, drop now your eye be^ow, 
Where round the verdurous viHage orchards blow ; 
There, like a picture, lies my lowly seat 
A rural, shelter'd, unobserved retreat. 
Me, far above the rest, Selbornian scenes. 
The pendent forest, and the mountain-greens. 
Strike with delight : . . . there spreads the distant view 
That gradual fades, 'til sunk in misty blue : 
Here Nature hangs her slopy woods to sight, 
Kills purl between, and dart a wavy light. 
When deep'ning shades obscure the face of day, 
To yonder bench leaf-shelter'd let ns stray. 
To hear the drowzy dor come brushing by 
With buzzing wing ; or the field-cricket cry ; 
To see the feeding bat glance thro' the wood ; 
Or catch the distant falling of the flood : 
While high in air, and poised upon his wings 
Unseen, the soft enamour'd wood-lark sings : (7) 
These, Nature's works, the curious mind employ, 
Inspire a soothing, melancholy joy : 
As fancy warms a pleasing kind of pain 
Steals o'er the cheek, and thrills the creeping vein ! 
Each rural sight, each sound, each smell combine ; 
The tinkling sheep-bell, or the breath of kine ; 
The new-mown hay that scents the swelling breeze ; 
Or cottage- chimney smoking thro' the trees. 
The chilling night-dews fall : . . . . away, retire, 
What time the glow-worm lights her amorous fire. (S) 
Selborne: Nov: 3 : 1774. 
Dear Sam, 
When I sat down to write to you in verse, my whole 
design was to shew you at once how easy a thing it might be 
with a little care for a Nephew to excell his Uncle in the 
{y.) In hot summer nights woodlarks soar to a proclioious height, and hang 
singing in the air. 
(8.) The Hght of the glow-worm a signal to her paramour, a slender 
dusky scarab. 
