In vain, alas, a village-friend invites Flows the full tide of human life along. Still must my partial pencil love to dwell On the home-prospects of my hermit-cell; The mossy pales that skirt the orchard-green, Here hid by shrub-wood, there by glimpses seen; And the brown path-way, that, with careless flow, Sinks, and is lost among the trees below. Still must it trace (the flattering tints forgive) Each fleeting charm that bids the landscape live. Oft o'er the mead, at pleasing distance, pass a Browsing the hedge by fits the panniered ass; The idling shepherd-boy, with rude delight, Whistling his dog to mark the pebble's flight; And in her kerchief blue the cottage-maid, Rich in its groves, and glens, and village-spires; When April-verdure springs in Grosvenor-square, And the furred Beauty comes to winter there, Yet still the seasons circle as before. Ah, still as soon the young Aurora plays. Tho' moons and flambeaux trail their broadest blaze; As soon the sky-lark pours his matin song, Tho' evening lingers at the mask so long. There let her strike with momentary ray, As tapers shine their little lives away; The ready smile and bidden blush employ Fan with affected ease the essenced air, And lisp of fashions with unmeaning stare. Here no state-chambers in long line unfold, Bright with broad mirrors, rough with fretted gold; Attracts the eye to exercise the mind. Small change of scene, small space his home requires, c Who leads a life of satisfied desires. What tho' no marble breathes, no canvass glows, From every point a ray of genius flows! d Be mine to bless the more mechanic skill, с Here from the mould to conscious being start Here chosen gems, imprest on sulphur, shine, And here the faithful graver dares to trace A MICHAEL'S grandeur, and a RAPHAEL's grace! Thy gallery, Florence, gilds my humble walls, my low roof the Vatican recalls! And Soon as the morning-dream my pillow flies, To waking sense what brighter visions rise! But could thine erring friend so long forget (Sweet source of pensive joy and fond regret) Selected shelves shall claim thy studious hours; There shall thy ranging mind be fed on flowers! * There, while the shaded lamp's mild lustre streams, Read antient books, or woo inspiring dreams; g And, when a sage's bust arrests thee there, h Pause, and his features with his thoughts compare. -Ah, most that Art my grateful rapture calls, Which breathes a soul into the silent walls; t Which gathers round the Wise of every Tongue, i All on whose words departed nations hung; Still prompt to charm with many a converse sweet; Guides in the world, companions in retreat! Tho' my thatched bath no rich Mosaic knows, A limpid spring with unfelt current flows. Seems motionless, yet ever glides away! |