Monday, June 11, 2012


      In such a night, when every louder wind 
        Is to its distant cavern safe confined;
       And only gentle Zephyr fans his wings,
      And lonely Philomel, still waking, sings;
   Or from some tree, famed for the owl's delight,
    She hollowing clear, directs  the wand'rer right:
                                                                      In such a night, when passing clouds give place,
                                                                          Or thinly veil the  heav'ns mysterious face;
                                                                           When in some river, overhung with green,
                                                                      The waving moon and trembling leaves are seen;
                                                                       When freshened grass now bears itself upright,
                                                                        And makes cool banks to pleasing rest invite,
                                                                  Whence springs  the woodbind, and the bramble-rose,
                                                                        And where  the sleepy cowslip sheltered grows;
     Whilst now a paler hue the foxglove takes,
    Yet checkers still with red the dusky brakes
  When scattered glow-worms, but in twilight fine,
    Shew trivial beauties watch their hour to shine;
    Whilst  Salisb'ry stands the test of every light,
     In perfect charms, and perfect virtue bright:
                                                                                  When odors, which declined repelling day,
                                                                                  Though temp'rate  air uninterrupted stray;
                                                                          When darkened groves their softest shades wear,
                                                                                   And falling waters we distinctly hear;
                                                                            When through the gloom more venerable shows
                                                                                   Some ancient fabric, awful in repose,
   While sunburnt hills their swarthy looks conceal,
        And swelling haycocks thicken up a vale:
   When the loosed horse now, as his  pasture leads
  Comes slowly grazing through th' adjoining meads,
 Whose stealing pace, and  lengthened shade we fear,
        Till torn-up forage in his teeth we hear:

                                                                               When nibbling sheep at large pursue their food,
                                                                                     And unmolested kine rechew the cud;
                                                                                When curlews cry beneath the village walls,
                                                                               And to her straggling brood the partridge calls;
                                                                               Their short lived jubilee at the creatures keep,
                                                                              Which but endures, whilst tyrant man does sleep;
          When a sedate content a spirit fees,
    And no fierce light disturbs, whilst it reveals;
       But silent musings urge the mind to seek
       Something, too high for syllables to speak;
    Till the free soul to a composedness charmed,
         Finding the elements of rage disarmed,
                                                                                     O'er all below a solemn quite grown,
                                                                         Joys in th' inferior world, and thinks its like her own:
                                                                                     In such a night let me abroad remain,
                                                                              Till morning breaks, and all confused again;
                                                                              Our cares, our toils, our clamors are renewed,
                                                                              Or pleasures, seldom reached, again pursued.

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