A stony channel rolls its rapid maze,

Swarms with the silver fry. Such, thro' the bounds
Of pastoral Stafford, runs the brawling Trent;
Such Eden, sprung from Cumbrian mountains; such
The Esk, o'erhung with woods; and such the stream
On whose Arcadian banks I first drew air,
Liddal ; till now, except in Doric lays

Tun'd to her murmurs by her love-sick swains,
Unknown in song: Tho' not a purer stream,

Thro' meads more flow'ry, or more romantic groves,
Rolls toward the western main. Hail sacred flood!
May still thy hospitable swains be blest

In rural innocence; thy mountains still
Teem with the fleecy race; thy tuneful woods
For ever flourish; and thy vales look gay
With painted meadows, and the golden grain!
Oft, with thy blooming sons, when life was new,
Sportive and petulant, and charm'd with toys,
In thy transparent eddies have I lav'd:
Oft trac'd with patient steps thy fairy banks,
With the well-imitated fly to hook

The eager trout, and with the slender line
And yielding rod sollicite to the shore

The struggling panting prey; while vernal clouds

And tepid gales obscur'd the ruffled pool,

And from the deeps call'd forth the wanton swarms.

. . . Some love the manly foils;

The tennis some; and some the graceful dance.
Others, more hardy, range the purple heath,
Or naked stubble; where from field to field
The sounding coveys urge their labouring flight;
Eager amid the rising cloud to pour

The gun's unerring thunder: And there are
Whom still the meed of the green archer charms.
He chuses best, whose labour entertains

His vacant fancy most: The toil you hate

Fatigues you soon, and scarce improves your limbs.
Art of Preserving Health. JOHN ARMSTRONG, 1744.

Translation

LINES WRITTEN UNDER A FRENCH PRINT REPRESENTING
PERSONS SKATING

O'er crackling ice, o'er gulphs profound,
With nimble glide the skaiters play;
O'er treacherous pleasure's flow'ry ground
Thus lightly skim, and haste away.

Poems. S. JOHNSON, 1789.

A fragment of a Poem on Hunting by Thomas Tickell

'Dona cano divûm, lætas venantibus artes,

Auspicio, Diana, tuo----'

GRATIUS.

Horses and hounds, their care, their various race,
The numerous beasts, that range the rural chace,
The huntsman's chosen scenes, his friendly stars,
The laws and glory of the sylvan wars,

I first in British verse presume to raise ;

A venturous rival of the Roman praise.

Let me, chaste Queen of Woods, thy aid obtain,

Bring here thy light-foot nymphs, and sprightly train:
If oft, o'er lawns, thy care prevents the day

To rouse the foe, and press the bounding prey,
Woo thine own Phœbus in the task to join,
And grant me genius for the bold design.
In this soft shade, O sooth the warrior's fire,
And fit his bow-string to the trembling lyre;
And teach, while thus their arts and arms we sing,
The groves to echo, and the vales to ring.

Thy care be first the various gifts to trace,
The minds and genius of the latrant race.
In powers distinct the different clans excel,
In sight, or swiftness, or sagacious smell;
By wiles ungenerous some surprize the prey,
And some by courage win the doubtful day.
Seest thou the gaze-hound! how with glance severe
From the close herd he marks the destin'd deer!
How every nerve the greyhound's stretch displays,
The hare preventing in her airy maze ;
The luckless prey how treacherous tumblers gain,
And dauntless wolf-dogs shake the lion's mane ;
O'er all, the blood-hound boasts superior skill,
To scent, to view, to turn, and boldly kill!
His fellows' vain alarms rejects with scorn,
True to the master's voice, and learned horn.
His nostrils oft, if ancient fame sing true,
Trace the sly felon through the tainted dew;
Once snuff'd, he follows with unalter'd aim,
Nor odours lure him from the chosen game;
Deep-mouth'd he thunders, and inflam'd he views,
Springs on relentless, and to death pursues.

1 barking.

Some hounds of manners vile (nor less we find
Of fops in hounds, than in the reasoning kind)
Puff'd with conceit run gladding o'er the plain
And from the scent divert the wiser train;
For the foe's footsteps fondly snuff their own,
And mar the music with their senseless tone;
Start at the starting prey, or rustling wind,
And, hot at first, inglorious lag behind.

A sauntering tribe! may such my foes disgrace!
Give me, ye gods, to breed the nobler race.
Nor grieve thou to attend, while truths unknown
I sing, and make Athenian arts our own.

Dost thou in hounds aspire to deathless fame? Learn well their lineage and their ancient stem. Each tribe with joy old rustic heralds trace, And sing the chosen worthies of their race; How his sire's features in the son were spy'd, When Die was made the vigorous Ringwood's bride. Less sure thick lips the fate of Austria doom, Or eagle noses rul'd almighty Rome.

Good shape to various kinds old bards confine, Some praise the Greek, and some the Roman line; And dogs to beauty make as differing claims, As Albion's nymphs, and India's jetty dames.