Her sea of leaves; thither we turn our steps,
And by the way attend the chearful sound
Of woodland harmony, that always fills
The merry vale between. How sweet the song
Day's harbinger attunes! I have not heard
Such elegant divisions drawn from art.
And what is he that wins our admiration?
A little speck that floats upon the sun-beam.
What vast perfection cannot nature crowd
Into a puny point! The nightingale
Her solo anthem sung, and all that heard
Content joins in the chorus of the day,
She, gentle heart, thinks it no pain to please,
Nor, like the moody songsters of the world,
Just shews her talent, pleases, takes affront,
And locks it up in envy.

I love to see the little goldfinch pluck The groundsil's feather'd seed, and twit and twit; And then in bow'r of apple blossoms perch'd, Trim his gay suit, and pay us with a song. I would not hold him pris'ner for the world.

The chimney-haunting swallow, too, my eye And ear well pleases. I delight to see How suddenly he skims the glassy pool; How quaintly dips, and with a bullet's speed Whisks by. I love to be awake, and hear His morning song twitter'd to young-eyed day.

But most of all it wins my admiration,
To view the structure of this little work,
A bird's nest. Mark it well, within, without.
No tool, had he that wrought, no knife to cut,
No nail to fix, no bodkin to insert,
No glue to join; his little beak was all.
And yet how neatly finish'd. What nice hand
With ev'ry implement and means of art,

And twenty years apprenticeship to boot,
Could make me such another! Fondly then
We boast of excellence, whose noblest akill
Instinctive genius foils.

The bee observe;

She too an artist is, and laughs at man
Who calls on rules the sightly hexagon
With truth to form; a cunning architect,
That at the roof begins her golden work,
And builds without foundation. How she toils,
And still from bud to bud, from flow'r to flow'r,
Travels the livelong day. Ye idle drones,
That rather pilfer than your bread obtain
By honest means like these, look here, and learn
How good, how fair, how honourable 'tis
To live by industry. The busy tribes
Of bees so emulous, are daily fed

With heaven's peculiar manna. 'Tis for them,
Unwearied alchymists, the blooming world
Nectareous gold distils. And bounteous heav'n,
Still to the diligent and active good,
Their very labour makes the certain cause
Of future wealth.

But see, the setting sun

Puts on a milder countenance, and skirts
The undulated clouds that cross his way
With glory visible. His axle cools,
And his broad disk, tho' fervent, not intense,
Foretels the near approach of matron night.
Ye fair, retreat! Your drooping flowers need
Wholesome refreshment. Down the hedge-row path
We hasten home, and only slack our speed
To gaze a moment at the custom'd gap,
That all so unexpectedly presents
The clear.cerulean prospect down the vale.
Dispers'd along the bottom flocks and herds,
Hayricks and cottages, besides a stream

That silvery meanders here and there;
And higher up, corn-fields, and pastures, hops,
And waving woods, and tufts, and lonely oaks,
Thick interspers'd as Nature best was pleas'd.

Happy the man who truly loves his home,
And never wanders farther from his door
Then we have gone to-day; who feels his heart
Still drawing homeward, and delights like us
Once more to rest his foot on his own threshold.

ADRIANO. BOOK VIII.

PATHETIC PIECES.

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CHAP. I.

THE STORY OF LE FEVRE.

IT was some time in the summer of that year in which Dendermond was taken by the allies, which was about seven years before my father came into the country, and about as many after the time, that my uncle Toby and Trim had private'y decamped from my father's house in town, in order to lay some of the finest sieges in some of the finest fortified cities in Europewhen my uncle Toby was one evening getting his supper, with Trim sitting behind him at a small sideboard ;The landlord of a little inn in the village came into the parlour with an empty phial in his hand to beg a glass or two of sack; 'Tis for a poor gentleman, I think, of the army, said the landlord, who has been taken ill at my house four days ago, and has never held up his head since, or had a desire to taste any thing, till just now, that he has a fancy for a glass of sack and a thin toast, I think, says he, taking his hand from his forehead, it would comfort me.

If I could neither beg, borrow, or buy such a thing,
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-added the landlord, -I would almost steal it for the poor gentleman, he is so ill. I hope in God he will still mend, continued he-we are all of us concerned for him.

Thou art a good natured soul, I will answer for thee, cried my uncle Toby; and thou shalt drink the poor gentleman's health in a glass of sack thyself, and take a couple of bottles with my service, and tell him he is heartily welcome to them, and to a dozen more if they will do him good.

Though I am persuaded, said my uncle Toby, as the landlord shut the door, he is a very compassionate fellow -Trim,-yet I cannot help entertaining a high opinion of his guest too; there must be something more than common in him, that in so short a time should win so much upon the affections of his host; - And of his whole family, added the corporal, for they are all concerned for him.

Step after him, said my uncle Toby, -do Trim,and ask if he knows his name.

Fhave quite forgot it, truly, said the landlord, coming back into the parlour with the corporal, but I can ask his son again :- Has he a son with him them? said my uncle Toby,-A boy, replied the landlord, of about eleven or twelve years of age; - but the poor creature has tasted almost as little as his father; he does nothing but mourn and lament for him night and day: He has not stirred from the bed-side these two days.

My uncle Toby laid down his knife and fork, and thrust his plate from before him, as the landlord gave him the account; and Trim, without being ordered, took away without saying one word and in a few minutes after brought him his pipe and tobacco.

-Stay in the room a little, said my uncle Toby. Trim!-said my uncle Toby, after he had lighted his pipe, and smoaked about a dozen whiffs. - Trim came in front of his master and made his bow;-my uncle Toby smoaked on and said no more. Corporal! said my un