FATHER FRANCIS'S PRAYER,

251

WRITTEN IN LORD WESTMORELAND'S HERMITAGE.

NE gay attire, ne marble hall,

Ne arched roof, ne pictured wall;

Ne cook of Fraunce, ne dainty board,
Bestow'd with pyes of Perigord;
Ne power, ne such like idle fancies,
Sweet Agnes, grant to Father Francis ;
Let me ne more myself deceive;
Ne more regret the toys I leave:
The world I quit, the proud, the vain,
Corruption's and Ambition's train;
But not the good, perdie, nor fair, ́
'Gainst them I make ne vow, ne prayer;
But such aye welcome to my cell,
And oft, not always, with me dwell;
Then cast, sweet saint, a circle round,
And bless from fools this holy ground;
From all the foes to worth and truth,
From wanton old, and homely youth:
The gravely dull, and pertly gay,
Oh! banish these, and, by my fay,
Right well I ween that in this age
Mine house shall prove an hermitage.

AN

INSCRIPTION ON THE CELL.

BENEATH these moss-grown roots, this rustic cell,
Truth, Liberty, Content, sequester'd dwell;
Say, you who dare our hermitage disdain,
What drawing-room can boast so fair a train?

AN

INSCRIPTION IN THE CELL.

SWEET bird, that sing'st on yonder spray,
Pursue unharm'd thy silvan lay;
While I, beneath this breezy shade,
In peace repose my careless head;
And joining thy enraptured song,
Instruct the world-enamour'd throng,
That the contented harmless breast
In solitude itself is bless'd.

INSCRIPTION ON A SUMMER-HOUSE'

BELONGING TO MR. WEST, AT WICKHAM, IN KENT.

(AN IMITATION of Ausonius, 'AD VILLAM.')

Nor wrapp'd in smoky London's sulphurous clouds,

And not far distant, stands my rural cot: Neither obnoxious to intruding crowds,

Nor for the good and friendly too remote.

And when too much repose brings on the spleen, Or the gay city's idle pleasures cloy;

Swift as my changing wish, I change the scene, And now the country, now the town, enjoy.

END OF VOL. XXIX.

C. Whittingham, College House, Chiswick.