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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416272" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Pastoral Entertainment</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">While in heroic numbers some relate <br>The amazing turns of wise eternal fate; <br>Exploits of heroes in the dusty field, <br>That to their name immortal honour yield; <br>Grant me, ye powers, by the limpid spring <br>The harmless of the plain to sing, <br>A wreath of flowers cull'd from the <br>Is all the my humble muse demands. <br>Now blithsome shepherds, by the early dawn, <br>Their new shorn flocks drive to the dewy lawn; <br>While, in a bleating language, each salutes <br>The welcome morning and their fellow brutes: <br>Then all prepared for the rural feast, <br>And in their finest Sunday habits drest; <br>The crystal brook supplied the mirror's place, <br>They bathed and viewed their cleanly face, <br>And nymphs resorted to the fields <br>Pomp the country yields. <br>The place appointed was a spacious vale, <br>Fann'd always by a cooling western gale, <br>Which in soft breezes through the meadows stray, <br>And steals the ripened fragrancies away; <br>Here every shepherd might his flocks survey, <br>Securely roam and take his harmless play; <br>And here were flowers each shepherdess to grace, <br>On her fair bosom courting but a place. <br>How in this vale, beneath a grateful shade, <br>By twining boughs of spreading made, <br>On seats of homely turf themselves they place, <br>And cheerfully enjoyed the rural feast, <br>Consisting of the produce of the fields, <br>And all the luxury the country yields. <br>No maddening liquors spoil'd their harmless mirth, <br>But an untainted spring their thirst allayed, <br>Which in meadows through the valley strayed. <br>Thrice happy swains who spend your golden days <br>In pastime; and when night displays <br>Her sable shade, to peaceful huts retire; <br>Can any man a sweeter bliss desire? <br>In ancient times so pass'd the smiling hour, <br>When our first parents lived in Eden's bower, <br>E'er care and trouble were pronounced, <br>Or sin had blasted the creation.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+Thomson">James Thomson</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416272" data-title="A Pastoral Entertainment de James Thomson" data-description="While in heroic numbers some relate 
The amazing turns of wise eternal fate; 
Exploits of heroes in the dusty field, 
That to their name immortal honour yield; 
Grant me, ye powers, by the limpid spring 
The harmless of the plain to sing, 
A wreat..."></div>
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