POEMS. 
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. 
Wor 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. 
^ow climb the steep, drop now your eye below, 
Where round the blooming village orchards grow ; 
There, like a picture, lies my lowly seat, 
A rural, shelter'd, unobserved retreat. 
Me far above the rest Selbornian scenes. 
The pendent forests, and the mountain greens 
Strike with delight ; there spreads the distant view, 
That gradual fades till sunk in misty blue : 
Here Nature hangs her slopy woods to sight, 
Eills purl between, and dart a quivering light. 
