Page:The Poetical Works of Thomas Parnell (1833).djvu/36

xx Pass'd is the spangling shower—well pleas'd I hail The emerald bow that seems to span the vale. Through the still meads then oft my steps are seen, Where the small hamlet spreads its straggling green, Its little orchard plot—the smiling field, Mid tufts of auburn foliage half conceal'd, (The Leveret's haunt) yon bank of yellow broom, And the sweet odours of the trefoil bloom; And not unmark'd the Naiad's hand that leads Her winding waters through a thousand meads, (While more remote, where the low hills extend, Bright purple heaths and russet fallows blend); For there the humble virtues love to rest Secure, and shelter'd in the peasant's nest; Like the sweet tenants of the hive, they dwell, Gentle companions of the poor man's cell. Pleas'd memory tells, how warm his bosom glow'd For ills prevented, or for good bestow'd, While the small mite, in love, in pity given, Touch'd by his hand, became a gem in Heaven.

Uplift the latch that opes the matron's door, Though low the roof and scanty be her store, Yet meek content, and patient labour there, Spread the small couch and eat their evening fare. Safe, where no ills molest, no cares invade, Watch'd by the genius of the rural shade; And when that sleep (such monarchs seldom knew),