s, fiddlers, tyrants, emperors, and czars.

Full in the centre of some shady grove,
By nature form'd for solitude and love;
On banks array'd with ever-blooming flow'rs,
Near beaut'ous landscapes, or by roseate bow'rs,
My neat, but simple mansion I would raise,
Unlike the sumptuous domes of modern days;
Devoid of pomp, with rural plainness form'd,
With savage game, and glossy shells adorn'd.

No costly furniture should grace my hall;
But curling vines ascend against the wall,
Whose pliant branches shou'd luxuriant twine,
While purple clusters swell'd with future wine
To slake my thirst a liquid lapse distill,
From craggy rocks, and spread a limpid rill.
Along my mansion spiry firs should grow,
And gloomy yews extend the shady row;

The cedars flourish, and the poplars rise
Sublimely tall, and shoot into the skies:
Among the leaves refreshing zephyrs play,
And crouding trees exclude the noon-tide ray;
Whereon the birds their downy nests should form,
Securely shelter'd from the batt'ring storm;
And to melodious notes their choir apply,
Soon as Aurora blush'd along the sky:
While all around the enchanting music rings,
And every vocal grove reponsive sings.

Me to sequester'd scenes, ye muses guide,
Where nature wanton's in her virgin pride,
To mossy banks, edg'd round with op'ning flow'rs,
Elysian fields and amaranthian bow'rs;
T' ambrosial founts, and sleep-inspiring rills,
To herbag'd vales, gay lawns, and funny hills.

Welcome ye shades! all hail, ye vernal blooms
Ye bow'ry thickets, and prophetic glooms!
Ye forests hail! ye solitary woods!
Love-whispering groves and silver-streaming floods!
Ye meads, that aromatic sweets exhale!
Ye birds, and all ye sylvan beauties hail!
Oh how I long with you to spend my days,
Invoke the muse, and try the rural lays!

No trumpets there with martial clangor found,
No prostrate heroes strew the crimson'd ground;
No groves of lances glitter in the air,
Nor thund'ring drums provoke the sanguine war;
but white-rob'd peace, and universal love
Smile in the field, and brighten, ev'ry grove,
There all the beauties of the circling year,
In native ornamental pride appear;
Gay rosy-bosom'd SPRING, and _April_ show'rs;
Wake from the womb of earth the rising flow'rs:
In deeper ve