Oft have I smiled the happy pride to see
Of humble tradesmen in their evening glee,
When of some pleasing fancied good possest,
Each grew alert, was busy and was blest:
Whether the call-bird yield the hour's delight,
Or magnified in microscope the mite;
Or whether tumblers, croppers, carriers seize
The gentle mind; they rule it and they please.
There is my friend the weaver; strong desires
Reign in his breast; 'tis beauty he admires:
See to the shady grove he wings his way,
And feels in hope the rapture of the day—
Eager he looks, and soon to glad his eyes,
From the sweet bower by nature form'd arise
Bright troops of virgin moths, and fresh born butterflies.
He fears no bailiff's wrath, no baron's blame,
His is untax'd and undisputed game.
Crabbe's Borough, p. 110.
[74] Linn. Trans. ii. 315.
[75] Letter to Dr. Wharton. Mason's Life of Gray, p. 28.
[76] Illig. Mag. ii. 33. iv. 3.
[77] Andrews's Anecdotes, 152.
[78] Swartz in Kongl. Vet. Ac. Nya. band. ix. 40. Plate [XXIII.] Fig. 10.
[79] Young's Annals of Agriculture, xi. 406.