My life steals on; (O could it blend with thine!) Careless my course, yet not without design. So thro' the vales of Loire the bee-hives glide, î So, till the laughing scenes are lost in night, Culling unnumber'd sweets from nameless flowers, That scent the vineyard in its purple hours. Rise, ere the watch-relieving clarions play, Caught thro' St. James's groves at blush of day; Haste to the tranquil shade of learned ease, * Innocuas amo delicias doctamque quietem, I Tho' each gay scene be search'd with anxious eye, Nor thy shut door be pass'd without a sigh. If, when this roof shall know thy friend no more, Some, form'd like thee, should once, like thee, explore; Invoke the lares of his lov'd retreat, And his lone walks imprint with pilgrim-feet; Then be it said, (as, vain of better days, Some grey domestic prompts the partial praise ;) "Unknown he liv'd, unenvied, not unblest; Reason his guide, and Happiness his guest. In the clear mirror of his moral page, We trace the manners of a purer age. His soul, with thirst of genuine glory fraught, One chosen seat, that charms with various view! |