The Hertfordshire Grove

When evening gales allay the summer's heat, With pleasure I repair to this retreat, While birds around me sing, and flocks around me bleat.

They who retirement love this grove revere, On every side hills crown'd with woods appear, There venerable elms, majestic beeches here.

Hark! how the feather'd choir their notes prolong! The mournful thrush bewails her captive young, And Philomela bears the burden of the song.

The joyful shepherds, whistling, home repair, Horses and steers th' approach of night declare, For shepherds, horses, steers, their daily tasks forbear.

See where the hare just ventures out to graze, Cautious each hedge and thicket she surveys, And thro' the brakes and meadows timorously strays!

Here Contemplation dwells with look serene, Here dwells Content, that enemy to spleen, And oft by poets here the tuneful Nine are seen.

Ye silent, venerable glades, all hail! Where sweets of blossom'd limes the smell regale, Where beauty on each side and dignity prevail.

But hark! the crickets chirp, and warn my Muse To quit these solemn shades: fresh fall the dews, And glow-worms o'er the lawn a glimmering light diffuse.