THE GROVE.

The sweet and fruitful dew fall on this ground,

To force out all the flowers that might be found.
The gaudy peacock boasts not in his train

So many lights and shadows, nor the rain

Heaven-painted bow, when that the sun doth court her,
Nor purple pheasant, while her mate doth sport her
To hear him crow, and with a beauteous pride
Wave his discolour'd neck and purple side.

I have not seen the place could more surprise,
More beautiful in Nature's varied dyes.
Lo! the blue bindweed doth itself infold

With honeysuckle, and both these entwine
Themselves with briony and jessamine,

To cast a kind and odoriferous shade:

The balmy West-wind blows, and every sense

Is soothed and courted: trees have got their heads,
The fields their coats, the dewy shining meads
Do boast the pansy, lily, and the rose,

And every flower doth laugh as Zephyr blows.
The seas are now more even than the earth,
Or gently swell as curl'd by Zephyr's breath;
The rivers run as smoothed by his hand;
The wanton heifer through the grassy land
Plays wildly free, her horns scarce budding yet;
While in the sunny fields the new-dropp'd lambs
Gambol, rejoicing round their milky dams.
Hark! how each bough a several music yields;
The lusty throstle, early nightingale,

Accord in tune, though vary in their tale.

THE DYING STAG.

The chirping swallow, call'd forth by the sun,
And crested lark doth her division run;

The yellow bees the air with music fill,

The finches carol, and the turtles bill.

OW in a grassy dingle he was laid,
With wild wood primroses befreckled;
Over his head the wanton shadows play'd
Of a young olive, that her boughs so spread,
As with her leaves she seem'd to crown his

head.