Fast locked in mine, with pleasure such as Love,
Confirmed by long experience of thy worth
And well tried virtues, could alone inspire-
Witness a joy that thou hast doubled long.
Thou knowest my praise of Nature most sincere, 150
And that my raptures are not conjured up

To serve occasions of poetic pomp,

155

160

But genuine, and art partner of them all.
How oft upon yon Eminence* our pace
Has slackened to a pause, and we have borne
The ruffling wind, scarce conscious that it blew,
While Admiration, feeding at the eye,
And still unsated, dwelt upon the scene.
Thence with what pleasure have we just discerned
The distant plough slow-moving, and beside
His labouring team that swerved not from the track,
The sturdy swain diminished to a boy!
Here Ouse, slow-winding through a level plain
Of spacious meads with cattle sprinkled o'er,
Conducts the eye along his sinuous course
Delighted. There, fast rooted in their bank,
Stand, never overlooked, our favourite elms,
That screen the herdsman's solitary hut; †

165

* With one trifling exception, the following lines contain a literally accurate description of the leading objects which meet the eye on a walk westward by a pathway over fields. from Olney to Weston. After the lapse of eighty years every spot gives evidence to the minute faithfulness of the delineation of the poet. A very gradual and gentle ascent leads to the Eminence here commemorated. Its height is not considerable, but every one that visits it will find his pace "slacken to a pause" in order to enjoy the view, not only of the pleasant valley of the Ouse, but that more distant" beyond and overthwart the stream."

†This passage is the one exception to Cowper's accuracy in description which we have just noted. The elms are pop

While far beyond, and overthwart the stream,
That, as with molten glass, inlays the vale,
The sloping land recedes into the clouds;
Displaying, on its varied side, the grace

170

Of hedge-row beauties numberless, square tower,
Tall spire,† from which the sound of cheerful bells
Just undulates upon the listening ear,

Groves, heaths, and smoking villages, remote.
Scenes must be beautiful which, daily viewed,
Please daily, and whose novelty survives
Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years.
Praise justly due to those that I describe.

175

180

185

Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds, Exhilarate the spirit, and restore The tone of languid Nature. Mighty winds That sweep the skirt of some far-spreading wood Of ancient growth, make music not unlike The dash of Ocean on his winding shore, And lull the spirit while they fill the mind, Unnumbered branches waving in the blast, And all their leaves fast fluttering, all at once. Nor less composure waits upon the roar Of distant floods, or on the softer voice Of neighbouring fountain, or of rills that slip Through the cleft rock, and, chiming as they fall

190

lars, and "the herdsman's solitary hut" is a boat-house. The trees stand, in a cluster, apart, by the side of the Ouse, conspicuous when observed from certain directions, but when seen at a distance, and mixed up with the surrounding landscape, as from Cowper's Eminence, very easily mistaken.

* Of the Church of Clifton Reynes, about a mile from Olney to the East.

† Of Olney Church; a beautiful object and conspicuous in every direction.

Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length
In matted grass, that with a livelier green
Betrays the secret of their silent course.
Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds,
But animated Nature sweeter still,

To soothe and satisfy the human ear.

Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one

195

200

205

The livelong night: nor these alone, whose notes
Nice-fingered Art must emulate in vain,
But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime
In still repeated circles, screaming loud,
The jay, the pie, and even the boding owl
That hails the rising moon, have charms for me.
Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh,
Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns,
And only there, please highly for their sake.

Peace to the artist whose ingenious thought 210
Devised the Weatherhouse,* that useful toy!
Fearless of humid air and gathering rains,
Forth steps the man-an emblem of myself!
More delicate his timorous mate retires.

When Winter soaks the fields, and female feet 215
Too weak to struggle with tenacious clay,
Or ford the rivulets, are best at home,
The task of new discoveries falls on me.
At such a season, and with such a charge,

*This cheap substitute for a barometer is not yet entirely obsolete. It had many forms. That described by Cowper was one of the most elaborate. In others, the man appeared with an umbrella over his head, and very frequently he was represented as a monk with a cowl, which was gradually lowered or thrown back, according to the state of the weather. In Cowper's time these barometrical toys were common, espe cially in country places, and among simple people were viewed with some amazement.

Once went I forth, and found, till then unknown, 220
A cottage, whither oft we since repair:
'Tis perched upon the green hill top, but close
Environed with a ring of branching elms
That overhang the thatch, itself unseen
Peeps at the vale below; so thick beset
With foliage of such dark redundant growth,

225

I called the low-roofed lodge the Peasant's Nest.* And hidden as it is, and far remote

230

From such unpleasing sounds as haunt the ear
In village or in town, the bay of curs
Incessant, clinking hammers, grinding wheels,
And infants clamorous whether pleased or pained,
Oft have I wished the peaceful covert mine.
Here, I have said, at least I should possess
The poet's treasure, silence, and indulge
The dreams of fancy, tranquil and secure.
Vain thought! the dweller in that still retreat
Dearly obtains the refuge it affords.

Its elevated site forbids the wretch

To drink sweet waters of the crystal well;
He dips his bowl into the weedy ditch,
And, heavy laden, brings his beverage home,
Far fetched and little worth; nor seldom waits,
Dependant on the baker's punctual call,
To hear his creaking panniers at the door,
Angry and sad, and his last crust consumed
So farewell envy of the Peasant's Nest!

235

240

245

* The Peasant's Nest exists, but the thatched roof has given way to tiles, many of the surrounding trees have been cut down, and the whole place has been altered and enlarged. It stands on the northern side of Weston park, and although not so entirely embowered as when Cowper describe it, still "peeps at the vale below."

If Solitude make scant the means of life,
Society for me! Thou seeming sweet,
Be still a pleasing object in my view,
My visit still, but never mine abode.

Not distant far, a length of Colonnade*
Invites us.
Monument of ancient taste,
Now scorned, but worthy of a better fate.
Our fathers knew the value of a screen
From sultry suns, and in their shaded walks,
And long protracted bowers, enjoyed at noon
The gloom and coolness of declining day.
We bear our shades about us; self-deprived
Of other screen, the thin umbrella spread,
And range an Indian waste without a tree.
Thanks to Benevolust-he spares me yet
These chestnuts ranged in corresponding lines,
And though himself so polished, still reprieves
The obsolete prolixity of shade.

250

255

260

265

Descending now (but cautious, lest too fast) A sudden steep upon a Rustic Bridge, We pass a gulf in which the willows dip Their pendant boughs, stooping as if to drink. Hence, ankle-deep in moss and flowery thyme, 270 We mount again, and feel at every step Our foot half sunk in hillocks green and soft, Raised by the mole, the miner of the soil. He, not unlike the great ones of mankind, Disfigures Earth, and, plotting in the dark,

275

* The Colonnade, the Rustic Bridge, and the Wilderness, yet attest the accuracy of Cowper's description. The Alcove has been rebuilt since his time, and the other objects alluded to are more or less changed, but all are easily recognizable. ↑ John Courtenay Throckmorton, Esq. of Weston Underwood. (C. 1785.)