And bring on hours of blest reality; When I shall Laura see, beside her stand, Hear her sweet voice, and press her yielded hand.” First o’er a barren heath beside the coast Orlando rode, and joy began to boast. “This neat low gorse,” said he, “with golden bloom, Delights each sense, is beauty, is perfume; And this gay ling, with all its purple flowers, A man at leisure might admire for hours; This green-fringed cup-moss has a scarlet tip, 40 That yields to nothing but my Laura’s lip; And then how fine this herbage! men may say A heath is barren; nothing is so gay: Barren or bare to call such charming scene Argues a mind possess’d by care and spleen.” Onward he went, and fiercer grew the heat, Dust rose in clouds before the horse’s feet; For now he pass’d through lanes of burning sand, Bounds to thin crops or yet uncultured land; Where the dark poppy flourished on the dry 50 And sterile soil, and mock’d the thin-set rye. “How lovely this!” the rapt Orlando said; “With what delight is labouring man repaid! The very lane has sweets that all admire, The rambling suckling and the vigorous brier; See! wholesome wormwood grows beside the way, Where dew-press’d yet the dog-rose bends the spray; Fresh herbs the fields, fair shrubs the banks adorn, And snow-white bloom falls flaky from the thorn; No fostering hand they need, no sheltering wall; 60 They spring uncultured and they bloom for all.” The lover rode as hasty lovers ride, And reach’d a common pasture wild and wide; Small black-legg’d sheep devour with hunger keen The meagre herbage, fleshless, lank, and lean; Such o’er thy level turf, Newmarket! stray, And there, with other _black-legs_ find their prey. He saw some scatter’d hovels; turf was piled In square brown stacks; a prospect bleak and wild! A mill, indeed, was in the centre found, 70 With short sear herbage withering all around; A smith’s black shed opposed a wright’s long shop, And join’d an inn where humble travellers stop. “Ay, this is Nature,” said the gentle ’squire; “This ease, peace, pleasure--who would not admire? With what delight these sturdy children play, And joyful rustics at the close of day; Sport follows labour, on this even space Will soon commence the wrestling and the race; Then will the village-maidens leave their home, 80 And to the dance with buoyant spirits come; No affectation in their looks is seen, Nor know they what disguise or flattery mean; Nor aught to move an envious pang they see-- Easy their service, and their love is free; Hence early springs that love, it long endures, And life’s first comfort, while they live, ensures. They the low roof and rustic comforts prize,