So strong the zeal to immortalize himself Beats in the breast of man, that e'en a few, The boorish driver leaning o'er his team Vocif'rous, and impatient of delay. Nor less attractive is the woodland scene, Alike, yet various. Here the gray smooth trunks And of a wannish gray; the willow such, And poplar, that with silver lines his leaf, And ash far stretching his umbrageous arm; Of deeper green the elm; and deeper still, Lord of the woods, the long surviving oak. Some glossy-leaved, and shining in the sun, The maple, and the beech of oily nuts Diffusing odours: nor unnoted pass The sycamore, capricious in attire, Now green, now tawny, and, ere autumn yet Have changed the woods, in scarlet honours bright. Hence the declivity is sharp and short, All summer long, which winter fills again. The folded gates would bar my progress now, Admits me to a share: the guiltless eye Commits no wrong, nor wastes what it enjoys. Refreshing change! where now the blazing sun? By short transition we have lost his glare, See the foregoing note. And stepp'd at once into a cooler clime. Re-echoing pious anthems! while beneath And dark'ning and enlight'ning, as the leaves Play wanton, ev'ry moment, ev'ry spot. And now, with nerves new braced and spirits cheer'd, We tread the wilderness, whose well-roll'd walks, With curvature of slow and easy sweep Deception innocent-give ample space To narrow bounds. The grove receives us next; |