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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=416305" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>On A Country Life</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I hate the clamours of the smoky towns, <br>But much admire the bliss of rural clowns; <br>Where some remains of innocence appear, <br>Where no rude noise insults the listening ear; <br>Nought but soft zephyrs whispering through the trees, <br>Or the still humming of the painful bees; <br>The gentle murmurs of a purling rill, <br>Or the unwearied chirping of the drill; <br>The charming harmony of warbling birds, <br>Or hollow lowings of the grazing herds; <br>The murmuring stockdoves melancholy coo, <br>When they their loved mates lament or woo; <br>The pleasing bleatings of the tender lambs, <br>Or the indistinct mum'ling of their dams; <br>The musical discord of chiding hounds, <br>Whereto the echoing hill or rock resounds; <br>The rural mournful songs of lovesick swains, <br>Whereby they soothe their raging amorous pains; <br>The whistling music of the lagging plough, <br>Which does the strength of drooping beasts renew. <br>And as the country rings with pleasant sounds, <br>So with delightful prospects it abounds: <br>Through every season of the sliding year, <br>Unto the ravish'd sight new scenes appear. <br>In the sweet spring the sun's prolific ray <br>Does painted flowers to the mild air display; <br>Then opening buds, then tender herbs are seen, <br>And the bare fields are all array'd in green. <br>In ripening summer, the full laden vales <br>Gives prospect of employment for the flails; <br>Each breath of wind the bearded groves makes bend, <br>Which seems the fatal sickle to portend. <br>In Autumn, that repays the labourer's pains, <br>Reapers sweep down the honours of the plains. <br>Anon black Winter, from the frozen north, <br>Its treasuries of snow and hail pours forth; <br>Then stormy winds blow through the hazy sky, <br>In desolation nature seems to lie; <br>The unstain'd snow from the full clouds descends, <br>Whose sparkling lustre open eyes offends. <br>In maiden white the glittering fields do shine; <br>Then bleating flocks for want of food repine, <br>With wither'd eyes they see all snow around, <br>And with their fore feet paw and scrape the ground: <br>They cheerfully do crop the insipid grass, <br>The shepherds sighing, cry, Alas! alas! <br>Then pinching want the wildest beast does tame; <br>Then huntsmen on the snow do trace their game; <br>Keen frost then turns the liquid lakes to glass, <br>Arrests the dancing rivulets as they pass. <br>How sweet and innocent are country sports, <br>And, as men's tempers, various are their sorts. <br>You, on the banks of soft meandering Tweed, <br>May in your toils ensnare the watery breed, <br>And nicely lead the artificial flee,<br>Which, when the nimble, watchful trout does see, <br>He at the bearded hook will briskly spring; <br>Then in that instant twieth your hairy string, <br>And, when he's hook'd, you, with a constant hand, <br>May draw him struggling to the fatal land. <br>Then at fit seasons you may clothe your hook, <br>With a sweet bait, dress'd by a faithless cook; <br>The greedy pike darts to't with eager haste, <br>And being struck, in vain he flies at last; <br>He rages, storms, and flounces through the stream, <br>But all, alas! his life cannot redeem. <br>At other times you may pursue the chase, <br>And hunt the nimble hare from place to place. <br>See, when the dog is just upon the grip, <br>Out at a side she'll make a handsome skip, <br>And ere he can divert his furious course, <br>She, far before him, scours with all her force: <br>She'll shift, and many times run the same ground; <br>At last, outwearied by the stronger hound, <br>She falls a sacrifice unto his hate, <br>And with sad piteous screams laments her fate. <br>See how the hawk doth take his towering flight, <br>And in his course outflies our very sight, <br>Bears down the fluttering fowl with all his might. <br>See how the wary gunner casts about, <br>Watching the fittest posture when to shoot: <br>Quick as the fatal lightning blasts the oak, <br>He gives the springing fowl a sudden stroke; <br>He pours upon't a shower of mortal lead, <br>And ere the noise is heard the fowl is dead. <br>Sometimes he spreads his hidden subtile snare, <br>Of which the entangled fowl was not aware; <br>Through pathless wastes he doth pursue his sport, <br>Where nought but moor-fowl and wild beasts resort. <br>When the noon sun directly darts his beams <br>Upon your giddy heads, with fiery gleams, <br>Then you may bathe yourself in cooling streams; <br>Or to the sweet adjoining grove retire, <br>Where trees with interwoven boughs conspire <br>To form a grateful shade;—there rural swains <br>Do tune their oaten reeds to rural strains; <br>The silent birds sit listening on the sprays, <br>And in soft charming notes do imitate their lays. <br>There you may stretch yourself upon the grass, <br>And, lull'd with music, to kind slumbers pass: <br>No meagre cares your fancy will distract, <br>And on that scene no tragic fears will act; <br>Save the dear image of a charming she, <br>Nought will the object of your vision be. <br>Away the vicious pleasures of the town; <br>Let empty partial fortune on me frown; <br>But grant, ye powers, that it may be my lot <br>To live in peace from noisy towns remote.</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=416305" data-title="On A Country Life de James Thomson" data-description="I hate the clamours of the smoky towns, 
But much admire the bliss of rural clowns; 
Where some remains of innocence appear, 
Where no rude noise insults the listening ear; 
Nought but soft zephyrs whispering through the trees, 
Or the still hummi..."></div>
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