Our water is drawn from the clearest of springs,
And our food, nor disease nor satiety brings;

Our mornings are cheerful, our labours are blest,
Our ev'nings are pleasant, our nights crown'd with

rest.

From our culture yon garden its ornaments finds;
And we catch at the hint for improving our minds:
To live to some purpose we constantly try;
And we mark by our actions the days as they fly.

Since such are the joys that Simplicity yields,
We may well be content with our woods and our fields:
How useless to us then ye great were your wealth,
When without it we purchase both pleasure and health!

MORE.

SECTION XXII.

THE FARMER, THE SPANIEL, AND THE CAT.

;

As at his board a farmer sate,
Replenish'd by his homely treat,
His fav'rite Spaniel near him stood,
And with his master shar'd the food
The crackling bones his jaws devour'd,
His lapping tongue the trenchers scour'd,
"Till, sated now, supine he lay,
And snor'd the rising fumes away.

The hungry Cat in turn drew near,
And humbly crav'd a servant's share,

Her modest worth the master knew,

And straight the fatt'ning morsel threw.
Enrag'd the snarling cur awoke,

And thus with spiteful envy spoke :
"They only claim a right to eat,
Who earn by services their meat;
Me, zeal and industry inflame,

To scour the fields, and spring the game;
Or, plunged in the wint'ry wave,
For man the wounded bird to save.
With watchful diligence I keep
From prowling wolves his fleecy sheep;
At home his midnight hours secure,
And drive the robber from the door.
For this his breast with kindness glows,
For this his hand the food bestows,
And shall thy indolence impart
A warmer friendship to his heart,
That thus he robs me of my due,
To pamper such vile things as you ?”
"I own," with meekness, Puss replied,
Superior merit on your side ;

Nor does my breast with envy swell,
To find it recompens'd so well;

Yet I, in what my nature can,
Contribute to the good of man.

Whose claws destroy the pilf'ring mouse?
Who drives the vermin from the house?

Or, watchful for the lab'ring swain,

From lurking rats secure the grain?
From hence if he rewards bestow,

Why should your heart with gall o'erflow?

Why pine my happiness to see,

Since there's enough for you and me ?”
"Thy words are just," the farmer cried,
And spurn'd the snarler from his side.

GAY.

SECTION XXIII.

THE WHEAT AND THE WEEDS.

"Twas in a pleasant month of spring,
When flowrets bloom and warblers sing;
A field of wheat began to rise,

The farmer's hope, his country's prize,
When lo! amid the op'ning ears,
A various crop of weeds appears.
The poppy, soldier-like array'd,
Its flimsy scarlet flow'rs display'd.
Some, like the lofty sky, were blue;
And some were ting'd with golden hue ;
But ev'ry where the wheat was seen,
Clad in the robe of modest green.
It chanc'd three youths, in city bred,
That knew to eat-not raise their bread;
For pleasure's sake had rambled there,
To see the sun and breathe fresh air.
Of herbs and grain they little knew
What Linnæus wrote, or Sinclair grew:
But each, as o'er the fields they gaz'd,
What fancy led to, pluck'd and prais'd.

"See," said the first, "this flow'r so red,
That gently bows its blushing head:
Can the whole field a plant display,
So rich, so noble, and so gay ?

"Yes," said the next, "the flow'r I show
With star-like rays, and sky-like blue,
So much does your dull plant outshine,
That the best choice is surely mine."

"Stop," said the third, "the flow'r I hold, With cluster'd leaves of burnish'd gold, Than yours, or his, is richer drest: The choice I've made, is doubtless best." In this, however, each agreed, That nothing could his own exceed ; And that the rising blades of green, Did not deserve to grow between.

A farmer chanc'd behind the gate To overhear the youths debate ; Knowing from ign'rance error springs, He strove to teach them better things.

"My lads," he said, "now understand, These are but weeds that spoil our land; But the green blades you trample down, Are wheat, man's food, and nature's crown. With art and pains the crop is sown ; And thus your daily bread is grown. Alas! your judgment was not right, Because you judg'd from outward sight.”

SECTION XXIV.

CARE AND GENEROSITY.

OLD Care, with industry and art,
At length so well had play'd his part,
He heap'd up such an ample store,
That av'rice could not sigh for more:
Ten thousand flocks his shepherd told,
His coffers overflow'd with gold;

The land all round him was his own,
With corn his crowded gran'ries groan.
In short, so vast his charge and gain,
That to possess them was a pain :
With happiness oppress'd he lies,
And much too prudent to be wise.
Near him there liv'd a beauteous maid,
With all the charms of youth array'd;
Good, amiable, sincere and free;
Her name was Generosity.
'Twas hers the largess to bestow
On rich and poor, on friend and foe.
Her doors to all were open'd wide:
The pilgrim there might safe abide :
For th' hungry and the thirsty crew,
The bread she broke, the drink she drew:
There sickness laid her aching head,
And there distress could find a bed.
Each hour, with an all-bounteous hand,
Diffus'd the blessing round the land:
Her gifts and glory lasted long,
And num'rous was th' accepting throng.