The cottage-curs at early pilgrim bark; Crowned with her pail the tripping milkmaid sings; The whistling ploughman stalks afield; and, hark! Down the rough slope the ponderous waggon rings; Through rustling corn the hare astonished springs; Slow tolls the village-clock the drowsy hour; The partridge bursts away on whirring wings; Deep mourns the turtle in sequestered bower, And shrill lark carols clear from her aerial tour. XL. O Nature, how in every charm supreme! Whose votaries feast on raptures ever new! O for the voice and fire of seraphim, To sing thy glories with devotion due! Blessed be the day I 'scaped the wrangling crew, From Pyrrho's maze, and Epicurus' sty; And held high converse with the godlike few, Who to the enraptured heart, and ear, and eye, Teach beauty, virtue, truth, and love, and melody. XLI. Hence! ye, who snare and stupify the mind, Sophists, of beauty, virtue, joy, the bane! Greedy and fell, though impotent and blind, Who spread your filthy nets in Truth's fair fane, And ever ply your venomed fangs amain! Hence to dark Error's den, whose rankling slime First gave you form! hence! lest the Muse should deign, (Though loath on theme so mean to waste a rhyme), With vengeance to pursue your sacrilegious crime. XLII. But hail, ye mighty masters of the lay, Nature's true sons, the friends of man and truth! Whose song, sublimely sweet, serenely gay, Amused my childhood, and informed my youth. O let your spirit still my bosom sooth, Inspire my dreams, and my wild wanderings guide! Your voice each rugged path of life can smooth; For well I know, wherever ye reside, There harmony, and peace, and innocence, abide. XLIII. Ah me! abandoned on the lonesome plain, As yet poor Edwin never knew your lore, Save when against the winter's drenching rain, And driving snow, the cottage shut the door. Then, as instructed by tradition hoar, Her legends when the Beldam 'gan impart, Or chant the old heroic ditty o'er, Wonder and joy ran thrilling to his heart; Much he the tale admired, but more the tuneful art. XLIV. Various and strange was the long-winded tale; And halls, and knights, and feats of arms, displayed; Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale, And sing, enamoured of the nut-brown maid; The moon-light revel of the fairy glade; Or hags, that suckle an infernal brood, And ply in caves the unutterable trade, 'Midst fiends and spectres, quench the moon in blood, Yell in the midnight storm, or ride the infuriate flood. XLV.