In square brown stacks; a prospect bleak and wild!
A mill, indeed, was in the centre found,
With short sear herbage withering all around;
A smith’s black shed opposed a wright’s long shop,
And join’d an inn where humble travellers stop.
“Ay, this is Nature,” said the gentle ’Squire;
“This ease, peace, pleasure - who would not admire?
With what delight these sturdy children play,
And joyful rustics at the close of day;
Sport follows labour; on this even space