And shepherds pen their folds, and rest upon their crook. 120 We prune our hedges, prime our slender trees, And nothing looks untutor'd and at ease; On the wide heath, or in the flow'ry vale, We scent the vapours of the sea-born gale; Broad-beaten paths lead on from stile to stile, And sewers from streets the road-side banks defile; Our guarded fields a sense of danger show, Where garden-crops with corn and clover grow; Fences are form'd of wreck and placed around (With tenters tipp'd), a strong repulsive bound; 130 Wide and deep ditches by the gardens run, And there in ambush lie the trap and gun; Or yon broad board, which guards each tempting prize, "Like a tall bully, lifts its head and lies." There stands a cottage with an open door, Its garden undefended blooms before; Her wheel is still, and overturn'd her stool, While the lone widow seeks the neighb'ring pool. This gives us hope all views of town to shun-- No! here are tokens of the sailor-son: 140 That old blue jacket, and that shirt of check, And silken kerchief for the seaman's neck; Sea-spoils and shells from many a distant shore, And furry robe from frozen Labrador. Our busy streets and sylvan-walks between, Fen, marshes, bog and heath all intervene; Here pits of crag, with spongy, plashy base, To some enrich th' uncultivated space: For there are blossoms rare, and curious rush, The gale's rich balm, and sun-dew's crimson blush, 150 Whose velvet leaf, with radiant beauty dress'd, Forms a gay pillow for the plover's breast. Not distant far, a house, commodious made, Lonely yet public stands, for Sunday-trade; Thither, for this day free, gay parties go, Their tea-house walk, their tippling rendezvous; There humble couples sit in corner-bowers, Or gaily ramble for th' allotted hours; Sailors and lasses from the town attend, The servant-lover, the apprentice-friend; 160 With all the idle social tribes who seek And find their humble pleasures once a week. Turn to the watery world!--but who to thee (A wonder yet unview'd) shall paint--the sea? Various and vast, sublime in all its forms, When lull'd by zephyrs, or when roused by storms; Its colours changing, when from clouds and sun Shades after shades upon the surface run; Embrown'd and horrid now, and now serene, In limpid blue, and evanescent green; 170 And oft the foggy banks on ocean lie, Lift the fair sail, and cheat th' experienced eye[38]. Be it the summer-noon: a sandy space The ebbing tide has left upon its place; Then, just the hot and stony beach above, Light twinkling streams in bright confusion move (For heated thus, the warmer air ascends, And with the cooler in its fall contends); Then the broad bosom of the ocean keeps