Page:The lives of the poets of Great Britain and Ireland to the time of Dean Swift - Volume 4.djvu/76

66 Yet, thence in ſmaller parties drawn,
 * The ſea recovers her loſt hills:

And ſtarting ſprings from every lawn,
 * Surprize the vales with plenteous rills.

The fields tame beaſts are thither led
 * Weary with labour, faint with drought,

And aſſes on wild mountains bred,
 * Have ſenſe to find theſe currents out.

There ſhady trees from ſcorching beams,
 * Yield ſhelter to the feather’d throng:

They drink, and to the bounteous ſtreams
 * Return the tribute of their ſong.

His rains from heav’n parch’d hills recruit,
 * That ſoon tranſmit the liquid ſtore:

’Till earth is burthen’d with her fruit,
 * And nature’s lap can hold no more.

Graſs for our cattle to devour,
 * He makes the growth of every field:

Herbs, for man’s uſe, of various pow’r,
 * That either food or phyſic yield.

With cluſter’d grapes he crowns the vine
 * To cheer man’s heart oppreſs’d with cares:

Gives oil that makes his face to ſhine,
 * And corn that waſted ſtrength repairs. PSALM