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النشر الإلكتروني

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Some mingling stir the melted tar, and fome
Deep on the new-fhorn vagrant's heaving side
To stamp. his master's cypher ready stand;
Others the unwilling wether drag along;
And, glorying in his might, the sturdy boy
Holds by the twisted horns th' indignant ram.
Behold where bound, and of its robe bereft
By needy man, that all-depending lord,
How meek, how patient, the mild creature lies!
What softness in its melancholy face,
What dumb-complaining innocence appears !
Fear not, ye gentle Tribes! 'tis not the knife
Of horrid flaughter that is o'er you wav'd;
No, 'tis the tender swain's well-guided shears,
Who having now, to pay his annual care,
Borrowed your fleece, to you a cumbrous load,
Will fend you bounding to your hills again.

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A fimple scene! yet hence Britannia fees
Her folid grandeur rife; hence she commands
Th' exalted stores of every brighter clime,
The treasures of the fun without his rage:
Hence, fervent all, with culture, toil, and arts,
Wide glows her land: her dreadful thunder, hence,
Rides o'er the waves fublime, and now, even now,
Impending hangs o'er Gallia's humbled coast; 430
Hence rules the circling deep, and awes the world.

'Tis raging noon, and, vertical, the fun
Darts on the head direct his forceful rays.

O'er heaven and earth, far as the ranging eye

Can sweep, a dazzling deluge reigns, and all 435

From pole to pole is undistinguish'd blaze.

In vain the fight, dejected to the ground,

Stoops for relief; thence hot-ascending steams,
And keen reflection, pain. Deep to the root
Of vegetation parch'd, the cleaving fields

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And flippery lawn an arid hue disclose,

Blast Fancy's bloom, and wither even the foul.
Echo no more returns the cheerful found

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Of sharpening scythe; the mower sinking, heaps
O'er him the humid hay, with flowers perfum'd.445
And scarce a chirping grashopper is heard
Thro' the dumb mead. Distressful Nature pants.
The very ftreams look languid from afar,
Or thro' th' unshelter'd glade impatient feem
To hurl into the covert of the grove.
All-conquering Heat! oh intermit thy wrath!
And on my throbbing temples, potent thus,
Beam not fo fierce ! incessant still you flow,
And still another fervent flood fucceeds,
Pour'd on the head profufe. In vain I figh,
And restless turn, and look around for night;
Night is far off; and hotter hours approach.
Thrice happy he! who on the funless fide
Of a romantic mountain, forest-crown'd,
Beneath the whole collected shade reclines;
Or in the gelid caverns, woodbine-wrought,
And fresh-bedew'd with ever-spouting streams,

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Sits coolly calm, while all the world without,
Unsatisfied, and sick, tosses in noon:
Emblem inftructive of the virtuous man,

Who keeps his temper'd mind serene and pure,

And every passion aptly harmoniz'd,

Amid a jarring world with vice inflam'd.

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Welcome, ye Shades! ye bowery Thickets, hail! Ye lofty Pines! ye venerable Oaks! Ye Ashes wild, refounding o'er the steep! Delicious is your shelter to the foul, As to the hunted hart the fallying spring, Or stream full-flowing, that his swelling fides Laves, as he floats along the herbag'd brink. Cool thro' the nerves your pleasing comfort glides; The heart beats glad; the fresh-expanded eye And ear refume their watch; the finews knit, And life shoots swift thro' all the lightened limbs.

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Around th' adjoining brook, that purls along 480* The vocal grove, now fretting o'er a rock, Now scarcely moving thro' a reedy pool, Now starting to a sudden stream, and now Gently diffus'd into a limpid plain,

A various group the herds and flocks compose, 485
Rural confufion! On the grassy bank

Some ruminating lie, while others stand:
Half in the flood, and, often bending, sip.
The circling furface. In the middle droops
The strong laborious ox, of honest front,

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Which incompos'd he shakes, and from his fides
The troublous infects lashes with his tail,
Returning still. Amid his fubjects safe,
Slumbers the monarch-fwain, his careless arm
Thrownround his head, on downy moss sustain'd;495
Here laid his fcrip, with wholesome viands fill'd,
There, liftening every noife, his watchful dog.

Light fly his flumbers, if perchance a flight
Of angry gadflies fasten on the herd,
That startling scatters from the shallow brook, 500
In search of lavish stream. Tossing the foam,
They scorn the keeper's voice, and scour the plain,
Thro' all the bright severity of noon,

While from their labouring breasts a hollow moan Proceeding, runs low-bellowing round the hills. 505 Oft' in this feason, too, the horse, provok'd,

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While his big finews full of spirits swell,
Trembling with vigour, in the heat of blood
Springs the high fence, and, o'er the field effus'd,
Darts on the gloomy flood with stedfast eye,
And heart estrang'd to fear; his nervous chest,
Luxuriant, and erect, the feat of strength,
Bears downth' oppofing stream: quenchless his thirst,
He takes the river at redoubled draughts,
And with wide nostrils snorting, skims the wave. 515

Still let me pierce into the midnight depth
Of yonder grove of wildeft, largest growth,
That, forming high in air a woodland choir,

Nods o'er the mount beneath. At every step,
Solemn and flow, the shadows blacker fall,
And all is awful listening gloom around.

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These are the haunts of Meditation, these The scenes where ancient bards th' inspiring breath, Exstatic, felt, and from this world retir'd, Convers'd with angels and immortal forms, On gracious errands bent, to save the fall

Of Virtue struggling on the brink of vice;

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In waking whispers and repeated dreams,
To hint pure thought, and warn the favour'd foul

For future trials fated to prepare;

To prompt the poet, who devoted gives

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His Muse to better themes; to footh the pangs
Of dying worth, and from the patriot's breast

(Backward to mingle in detested war,

But foremost when engag'd) to turn the death; 535 And numberless such offices of love

Daily, and nightly, zealous to perform.

Shook fudden from the bosom of the sky, A thousand shapes or glide athwart the dusk, Or stalk majestic on. Deep-rous'd, I feel

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A facred terror, a fevere delight,

Creep thro' my mortal frame; and thus, methinks, A voice, than human more, th' abstracted ear

Of Fancy strikes; "Be not of us afraid,

"Poor kindred Man! thy fellow-creatures we 545 "From the fame Parent-power our beings drew,

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