As soon as Aurora came sun-rob'd and flaunting, Our party arose to continue their jaunting, But think not our hurry to run after pleasure, Could make us forget a good breakfast to treasure, Tho' we talk'd of fine colouring, site and vertû, Yet we gave the hot rolls and the muffins their due; And even those misses, "who died to be moving," Bare martyrdom well while the toast they were proving; Our wisdom and foretl ought admit no denial, Since our strength was about to experience a trial; For a medical work in the very first chapter, Declares that "exhaustion arises from rapture," And that 'vessels well laden may prove the occasion, Of giving the head a complete gravitation,' 444 Ye Naiads and Wood-nymphs, ye Sylphs, and ye Gnomes, Who flirt on the sun-beams, or languish in tombs, Who skim o'er the foam on the flow'r wave your pinion, The brilliant machinery of pages Darwinian. Oh would that your legions so tiny and taper, Would light on my pen and illumine my paper; Oh then might I sing lovely Hackfall thy praises, And paint all the beauties I found in thy mazes, Those mazes where nature and art have combin'd, To spread all the charms they together could find. 'Tis fairy land all, yet majestic and great, Where Solitude sweetly reposes in state, And smiles on her mansion with features so mild, We conceive her most pleas'd where the scene is most wild; Here gurgles the Eure, thro' a thousand meanders, And unrivall'd cascades swell the stream as it wanders, Affording such pictures for light, form, and shade, As Claude might have gaz'd on, or Roussin pourtray'd, Or Wilson who gave to his country a name, To rival the proudest possessors of fame. But alas my poor muse to this subject must knuckle, Since her song never reaches to more than a chuckle. Her flame is unlit, and unfledg'd is her wing, Untun'd too her lyre, for it has but one string; Therefore 'tis in vain, I sit down to my desk, To paint the sublime, or the true picturesque, For my muse is unworthy poor ignorant Vandal, To pipe on the genius of Hackfall's old sandal. So imagine dear mother whatever you please, Of rocks, rivers, waterfalls, temples, and trees, And now with the grotto, the dell, and the dingle, Sweet Masham must rise and its sylvan scene mingle; While Swinton appears in the far distant shade, By Danby and taste, a new paradise made. While thus you're employ'd, I'll my pegasus whip on, For once more the dinner is waiting at Rippon. 482