All conquering heat, oh, intermit thy wrath! And on my throbbing temples potent thus Beam not so fierce! Incessant still you flow, And still another fervent flood succeeds, Pour'd on the head profuse. In vain I sigh, And restless turn, and look around for night: Night is far off; and hotter hours approach. Thrice-happy be! who on the sunless side Of a romantic mountain, forest-crown'd, Beneath the whole-collected shade reclines, Or in the gelid caverns, woodbine-wrought, And fresh bedew'd with ever-spouting streams, Sits coolly calm, while all the world without, Unsatisfied and sick, tosses in noon. Emblem instructive of the virtuous man, Who keeps his temper'd mind serene, and pure, And every passion aptly harmoniz'd, Amid a jarring world with vice inflam'd. Welcome, ye shades! ye bowery thickets, hail! Ye lofty pines! ye venerable oaks! Ye ashes wild, responding o'er the steep! Delicious is your shelter to the soul, As to the hunted hart the sallying spring, Or stream full-flowing, that his swelling sides Laves, as he floats along the herbag'd brink. Cool, through the nerves, your pleasing comfort glides; The heart beats glad; the fresh-expanded eye And ear resume their watch; the sinews knit; And life shoots swift through all the lighten'd limbs. [Illustration: A various group the flocks and herds] [Illustration: Slumbers the monarch swain] Around the adjoining brook that purls along The vocal grove, now fretting o'er a rock, Now scarcely moving through a reedy pool, Now starting to a sudden stream, and now Gently diffus'd into a limpid plain, A various group the herds and flocks compose Rural confusion! On the grassy bank Some ruminating lie; while others stand Half in the flood, and often bending sip The circling surface. In the middle droops The strong laborious ox, of honest front, Which incompos'd he shakes; and from his sides The troublous insects lashes with his tail, Returning still. Amid his subjects safe, Slumbers the monarch swain: his careless arm Thrown round his head, on downy moss sustain'd: Here laid his scrip, with wholesome viands fill'd; There, listening every noise, his watchful dog. Light fly his slumbers, if perchance a flight Of angry gadflies fasten on the herd; That startling scatters from the shallow brook, In search of lavish stream. Tossing the foam, They scorn the keeper's voice, and scour the plain Through all the bright severity of noon; While, from their laboring breasts, a hollow moan Proceeding, runs low-bellowing round the hills.