........I have, from my own
ground, the longest blade of grass upon record, and once accepted, as a
half year's rent for a field of wheat, an ear, containing more grains than
had been seen before upon a single stem."
I hope my old Sir Ambrose stands in no need of defence from me or from any
one; a man has a right to do what he likes with his own estate. The
characters I have introduced as candidates may not come off so easily; a
cluster of poets is not likely to be found in one village, and the
following lines, written by my good friend T. Park. Esq. of Hampstead, are
not only true, but beautifully true, and I cannot omit them.
WRITTEN IN THE ISLE OF THANET,
August, 1790.
The bard, who paints from rural plains,
Must oft himself the void supply
Of damsels pure and artless swains,
Of innocence and industry:
For sad experience shows the heart
Of human beings much the same;
Or polish'd by insidious art,
Or rude as from the clod it came.
And he who roams the village round,
Or strays amid the harvest sere,
Will hear, as now, too many a sound
Quiet would never wish to hear.
The wrangling rustics' loud abuse,
The coarse, unfeeling, witless jest,
The threat obscene, the oath profuse,
And all that cultured minds detest.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25