Home, from the morning task, the swain retreats; His flock before him stepping to the fold: While the full-udder'd mother lows around The cheerful cottage, then expecting food, The food of innocence and health! The daw, The rook, and magpie, to the gray-grown oaks (That the calm village in their verdant arms, Sheltering, embrace) direct their lazy flight; Where on the mingling boughs they sit embower'd, All the hot noon, till cooler hours arise. Faint, underneath, the household fowls convene; And, in a corner of the buzzing shade, The housedog, with the vacant grayhound, lies Outstretched and sleepy. In his slumbers one Attacks the nightly thief, and one exults O'er hill and dale; till, waken'd by the wasp, They, starting, snap. Nor shall the muse disdain To let the little noisy summer race Live in her lay, and flutter through her song, Not mean, though simple: to the sun allied, From him they draw their animating fire. Wak'd by his warmer ray, the reptile young Come wing'd abroad; by the light air upborne, Lighter, and full of soul. From every chink, And secret corner, where they slept away The wintry storms--or, rising from their tombs To higher life--by myriads, forth at once, Swarming they pour; of all the varied hues Their beauty-beaming parent can disclose. Ten thousand forms! ten thousand different tribes! People the blaze. To sunny waters some By fatal instinct fly; where, on the pool, They, sportive, wheel; or, sailing down the stream Are snatch'd immediate by the quick-ey'd trout, Or darting salmon. Through the greenwood glade Some love to stray; there lodg'd, amus'd, and fed In the fresh leaf. Luxurious, others make The meads their choice, and visit every flower, And every latent herb: for the sweet task, To propagate their kinds, and where to wrap, In what soft beds, their young, yet undisclos'd, Employs their tender care. Some to the house, The fold, and dairy, hungry, bend their flight; Sip round the pail, or taste the curdling cheese: Oft, inadvertent, from the milky stream They meet their fate; or, weltering in the bowl, With powerless wings around them wrapp'd, expire. But chief to heedless flies the window proves A constant death; where, gloomily retir'd, The villain spider lives, cunning and fierce, Mixture abhorr'd! Amid a mangled heap Of carcasses, in eager watch he sits, O'erlooking all his waving snares around. Near the dire cell the dreadless wanderer oft Passes, as oft the ruffian shows his front. The prey at last ensnar'd, he dreadful darts, With rapid glide, along the leaning line; And, fixing in the wretch his cruel fangs, Strikes backward, grimly pleas'd: the fluttering wing, And shriller sound, declare extreme distress And ask the helping hospitable hand.