Page:The Poems of John Dyer (1903).djvu/70

 Soon our unaching heads to sleep inclines. Is it in cities so? where, poets tell, The cries of Sorrow sadden all the streets, And the diseases of intemp'rate wealth. Alas ! that any ills from wealth should rise ! " "May the sweet nightingale on yonder spray, May this clear stream, those lawns, these snow-white lambs, Which with a pretty innocence of look Skip on the green, and race in little troops; May that great lamp which sinks behind the hills, And streams around variety of lights, Recall them erring ! this is Damon's wish." "Huge Breaden's stony summit once I climb'd After a kidling : Damon, what a scene ! What various views unnumber'd spread beneath ! Woods, tow'rs, vales, caves, dells, cliffs, and torrent floods, And here and there, between the spiry rocks, The broad flat sea. Far nobler prospects these Than gardens black with smoke in dusty towns, Where stenchy vapours often blot the sun: Yet, flying from his quiet, thither crowds Each greedy wretch for tardy-rising wealth, Which comes too late, that courts the taste in vain, Or nauseates with distempers. Yes, ye Rich! Still, still be rich, if thus ye fashion life ; And piping, careless, silly shepherds we, We silly shepherds, all intent to feed Our snowy flocks, and wind the sleeky Fleece." " Deem not, however, our occupation mean," Damon reply'd," while the Supreme accounts Well of the faithful shepherd, rank'd alike With king and priest: they also shepherds are; For so th' All-seeing styles them, to remind