Come, country Goddess, come! nor thou suffice,
  But bring thy mountain sister, Exercise! 30
  Call’d by thy lovely voice, she turns her pace,
  Her winding horn proclaims the finish’d chase;
  She mounts the rocks, she skims the level plain,
  Dogs, hawks, and horses crowd her early train;
  Her hardy face repels the tanning wind,
  And lines and meshes loosely float behind. 
  All these as means of toil the feeble see,
  But these are helps to pleasure join’d with thee.

   Let Sloth lie softening till high noon in down,
  Or lolling fan her in the sultry town, 40
  Unnerved with rest, and turn her own disease,
  Or foster others in luxurious ease: 
  I mount the courser, call the deep-mouth’d hounds;
  The fox unkennell’d, flies to covert grounds;
  I lead where stags through tangled thickets tread,
  And shake the saplings with their branching head;
  I make the falcons wing their airy way,
  And soar to seize, or stooping strike their prey: 
  To snare the fish I fix the luring bait;
  To wound the fowl I load the gun with fate. 50
  ’Tis thus through change of exercise I range,
  And strength and pleasure rise from every change. 
  Here beauteous for all the year remain;
  When the next comes, I’ll charm thee thus again.

   Oh come, thou Goddess of my rural song,
  And bring thy daughter, calm Content, along! 
  Dame of the ruddy cheek and laughing eye,
  From whose bright presence clouds of sorrow fly: 
  For her I mow my walks, I plait my bowers,
  Clip my low hedges, and support my flowers; 60
  To welcome her, this summer seat I dress’d,
  And here I court her when she comes to rest;
  When she from exercise to learned ease
  Shall change again, and teach the change to please.

   Now friends conversing my soft hours refine,
  And Tully’s Tusculum revives in mine: 
  Now to grave books I bid the mind retreat,
  And such as make me rather good than great;
  Or o’er the works of easy Fancy rove,
  Where flutes and innocence amuse the grove:  70
  The native bard that on Sicilian plains
  First sung the lowly manners of the swains;
  Or Maro’s Muse, that in the fairest light
  Paints rural prospects and the charms of sight;
  These soft amusements bring Content along,
  And Fancy, void of sorrow, turns to song. 
  Here beauteous Health for all the year remain;
  When the next comes, I’ll charm thee thus again.

* * * * *

  THE FLIES:  AN ECLOGUE.

   When the river cows for coolness stand. 
  And sheep for breezes seek the lofty land,
  A youth whom AEsop taught that every tree,
  Each bird and insect, spoke as well as he,
  Walk’d calmly musing in a shaded way,
  Where flowering hawthorn broke the sunny ray,
  And thus instructs his moral pen to draw
  A scene that obvious in the field he saw.