Exposing most when most it gilds distress.
George Crabbe, 1754–1832.
THE ENGLISH COMMON.
Turning again up the hill, we find ourselves on that peculiar charm of English scenery, a green common, divided by the road; the right side fringed by hedge-rows and trees, with cottages and farm-houses irregularly placed, and terminated by a double avenue of noble oaks: the left, prettier still, dappled by bright pools of water, and islands of cottages and cottage-gardens, and sinking gradually down to corn-fields and meadows, and an old farm-house with pointed roofs and clustered chimneys looking out from its blooming orchard, and backed by woody hills. The common itself is the prettiest part of the prospect, half covered with low furze, whose golden blossoms reflect so intensely the last beams of the setting sun, and alive with cows and sheep, and two sets of cricketers: one of young men, surrounded with spectators—some standing, some stretched on the grass, all taking a delightful interest in the game: the other a group of little boys at an humble distance, for whom even cricket is scarcely lively enough, shouting, leaping, and enjoying themselves to their hearts’ content.
Mary R. Mitford.
LINES
TO A BEAUTIFUL SPRING IN A VILLAGE.
Once more, sweet stream! with slow foot wandering near,
I bless thy milky waters cold and clear.
Escaped the flashing of the noontide hours,