Afterwards when it became her own by the Duke's bequest, and her home was thereby fixed upon the spot of earth which she would have chosen for herself, the satisfaction which she took in adding to it either beauty or convenience was enhanced by the reflection that in adorning it she was at the same time shewing her value for the gift, and her gratitude to the lamented giver. “Every thing,” said she, “both within and without the house reminds me of my obligations to him; and I cannot turn my eyes upon any object which is not an object of his goodness to me.—And as I think it a duty while it pleases God to continue us here, not to let ourselves sink into a stupid and unthankful melancholy, I endeavour to find out such entertainments as my retirement, and my dear Lord's unmerited bounty will admit of.” And oh the transport, most allied to song, In some fair villa's peaceful bound, To catch soft hints from nature's tongue And bid Arcadia bloom around: Whether we fringe the sloping hill, Or smoothe below the verdant mead; Whether we break the falling rill, Or thro' meandering mazes lead; Or in the horrid bramble's room Bid careless groups of roses bloom; Or let some sheltered lake serene Reflect flowers, woods, and spires, and brighten all the scene. O sweet disposal of the rural hour! O beauties never known to cloy! While worth and genius haunt the favoured bower, And every gentle breast partakes the joy. While Charity at eve surveys the swain, Enabled by these toils to cheer A train of helpless infants dear, Speed whistling home across the plain; Sees vagrant Luxury, her handmaid grown, For half her graceless deeds atone, And hails the bounteous work, and ranks it with her own.[2] [Footnote 2: SHENSTONE.]