The honeysuckles clad in white, The rose in red, point to the light; And the lilies, hollow and bleak, Look as if they would something speak; They sigh at night to each soft gale, And at the day-spring weep it all. Shall I then only--wretched I!-- Oppress'd with earth, on earth still lie?" Thus speaks he to the neighbour trees, And many sad soliloquies To springs and fountains doth impart, Seeking God with a longing heart. But if to ease his busy breast He thinks of home, and taking rest, A rural cot and common fare Are all his cordials against care. There at the door of his low cell, Under some shade, or near some well Where the cool poplar grows, his plate Of common earth without more state Expect their lord. Salt in a shell, Green cheese, thin beer, draughts that will tell No tales, a hospitable cup, With some fresh berries, do make up His healthful feast; nor doth he wish For the fat carp, or a rare dish Of Lucrine oysters; the swift quist Or pigeon sometimes--if he list-- With the slow goose that loves the stream, Fresh, various salads, and the bean By curious palates never sought, And, to close with, some cheap unbought Dish for digestion, are the most And choicest dainties he can boast. Thus feasted, to the flow'ry groves Or pleasant rivers he removes, Where near some fair oak, hung with mast, He shuns the South's infectious blast. On shady banks sometimes he lies, Sometimes the open current tries, Where with his line and feather'd fly He sports, and takes the scaly fry. Meanwhile each hollow wood and hill Doth ring with lowings long and shrill, And shady lakes with rivers deep Echo the bleating of the sheep; The blackbird with the pleasant thrush And nightingale in ev'ry bush Choice music give, and shepherds play Unto their flock some loving lay! The thirsty reapers, in thick throngs, Return home from the field with songs, And the carts, laden with ripe corn, Come groaning to the well-stor'd barn. Nor pass we by, as the least good, A peaceful, loving neighbourhood, Whose honest wit, and chaste discourse Make none--by hearing it--the worse, But innocent and merry, may Help--without sin--to spend the day. Could now the tyrant usurer, Who plots to be a purchaser Of his poor neighbour's seat, but taste These true delights, O! with what haste And hatred of his ways, would he Renounce his Jewish cruelty, And those curs'd sums, which poor men borrow On use to-day, remit to-morrow! AD FLUVIUM ISCAM.