My ear; not even the cannon's thundering roar.
Far in a vale, be there my low abode,
Embowered in woods where many a songster chaunts.
And let me now indulge the airy dream!

A bow-shot off in front a river flows,

That, during summer drought, shallow and clear,
Chides with its pebbly bed, and, murmuring,
Invites forgetfulness; half hid it flows,

Now between rocks, now through a bush-girt glade,
Now sleeping in a pool, that laves the roots
Of overhanging trees, whose drooping boughs
Dip midway over in the darkened stream;
While ever and anon, upon the breeze,
The dash of distant waterfall is borne.

A range of hills, with craggy summits crowned,
And furrowed deep, with many a bosky cleugh,
Wards off the northern blast: There skims the hawk
Forth from her cliff, eyeing the furzy slope

That joins the mountain to the smiling vale.
Through all the woods the holly evergreen,
And laurel's softer leaf, and ivied thorn,
Lend winter shelter to the shivering wing.

No gravelled paths, pared from the smooth-shaved turf,
Wind through these woods; the simple unmade road,
Marked with the frequent hoof of sheep or kine,
Or rustic's studded shoe, I love to tread.

No threatening board forewarns the homeward hind,

Of man-traps, or of law's more dreaded gripe.
Pleasant to see the labourer homeward hie
Light hearted, as he thinks his hastening steps
Will soon be welcomed by his children's smile!
Pleasant to see the milkmaid's blythesome look,
As to the trysting thorn she gaily trips,
With steps that scarcely feel the elastic ground!
Nor be the lowly dwellings of the poor

Thrust to a distance, as unseemly sights.

Curse on the heartless taste that, proud, exclaims,
"Erase the hamlet, sweep the cottage off;
"Remove each stone, and only leave behind

"The trees that once embowered the wretched huts.
"What though the inmates old, who hoped to end
"Their days below these trees, must seek a home,
"Far from their native fields, far from the graves
"In which their fathers lie,—to city lanes,
"Darksome and close, exiled? It must be so;
"The wide extending lawn would else be marred,
"By objects so incongruous." Barbarous taste!
Stupidity intense! Yon straw-roofed cot,
Seen through the elms, it is a lovely sight!
That scattered hamlet, with its burn-side green,
On which the thrifty housewife spreads her yarn,
Or half-bleached web, while children busy play,
And paddle in the stream,-for every heart,
Untainted by pedantic rules, hath charms.

I love the neighbourhood of man and beast:
I would not place my stable out of sight.
No; close behind my dwelling, it should form
A fence, on one side, to my garden plat.

What beauty equals shelter, in a clime

Where wintry blasts with summer breezes blend,
Chilling the day! How pleasant 'tis to hear
December's winds, amid surrounding trees,
Raging aloud! how grateful 'tis to wake,

While raves the midnight storm, and hear the sound
Of busy grinders at the well filled rack;
Or flapping wing, and crow of chanticleer,
Long ere the lingering morn; or bouncing flails,
That tell the dawn is near! Pleasant the path
By sunny garden-wall, when all the fields
Are chill and comfortless; or barn-yard snug,
Where flocking birds, of various plume, and chirp
Discordant, cluster on the leaning stack,

From whence the thresher draws the rustling sheaves.

O, nature! all thy seasons please the eye
Of him who sees a Deity in all.

It is His presence that diffuses charms
Unspeakable, o'er mountain, wood, and stream.
To think that He, who hears the heavenly choirs,
Hearkens complacent to the woodland song;
To think that He, who rolls yon solar sphere,

Uplifts the warbling songster to the sky;
To mark His presence in the mighty bow,
That spans the clouds, as in the tints minute
Of humblest flower; to hear his awful voice
In thunder speak, and whisper in the gale;
To know, and feel His care for all that lives ;-
"Tis this that makes the barren waste appear
A fruitful field, each grove a paradise.

Yes! place me 'mid far stretching woodless wilds,
Where no sweet song is heard; the heath-bell there
Would soothe my weary sight, and tell of Thee!
There would my gratefully uplifted eye

Survey the heavenly vault, by day,-by night,
When glows the firmament from pole to pole;
There would my overflowing heart exclaim,
The heavens declare the glory of the Lord,
The firmament shews forth his handy work!

Less loud, but not less clear, His humbler works Proclaim his power; the SWALLOW knows her time, And, on the vernal breezes, wings her way, O'er mountain, plain, and far-extending seas, From Afric's torrid sands to Britain's shore. Before the cuckoo's note, she, twittering, gay, Skims o'er the brook, or skiffs the greenwood tops, When dance the midgy clouds in warping maze Confused: 'tis thus, by her, the air is swept

Of insect myriads, that would else infest
The greenwood walk, blighting each rural joy:
For this, if pity plead in vain-O, spare

Her clay-built home! Her all, her young, she trusts,
Trusts to the power of man: fearful, herself
She never trusts; free, the long summer morn,
She, at his window, hails the rising sun.-
Twice seven days she broods; then on the wing,
From morn to dewy eve, unceasing plies,
Save when she feeds or cherishes her young;
And oft she's seen, beneath her little porch,
Clinging supine, to deal the air-gleaned food.

From her the husbandman the coming shower
Foretells: Along the mead closely she skiffs,
Or o'er the streamlet pool she skims, so near,
That, from her dipping wing, the wavy circlets
Spread to the shore: then fall the single drops,
Prelusive of the shower.

The MARTINS, too,
The dwellers in the ruined castle wall,

When low'rs the sky a flight less lofty wheel.
Presageful of the thunder peal, when deep
A boding silence broods o'er all the vale,
From airy altitudes they stoop, and fly
Swiftly, with shrillest scream, round and around
The rugged battlements; or fleetly dart