There the last refuge of his exiled woes,
The village pastor's humble dwelling rose,
Who far from worldly cares, from worldly strife,
Watch'd the calm sunset of his closing life.
Fix'd in these sheltering vales his peaceful seat,
Amid the silent blessings of retreat,
Pleas'd 'mid his books, his fold, his farm to stray,
And
pass, as Tully pass'd, the approving day.
Or him the lov'd of Earth-the sent of Heaven,
To whom the knowledge of its will was given ;
Guide of the wanderer-teacher of the blind,
Well was he call'd--the Wisest of Mankind.
Ah, mark, with reverence mark, each willowy glade, Each wild-wood walk where oft the poet stray'd, His favourite path beneath yon hawthorns green, Where the small glow-worm's emerald lamp was
Star of the earth—of eve!-yon bank of flowers,
Detain'd him musing through the noontide hours;
And still the traveller points the green retreat,
The crystal waters and the Muses' seat,
There would he watch the morning's dewy beam
Tremble with silver lustre on the stream,
Or view, as the mild shades of evening blend,
The orb of glory to his couch descend.
And oft before his youthful eyes there came
Bright gleams, the Aurora of his future fame;
He felt the gale that blew from Mars's hill,
He heard the murmurs of Ilissus' rill.
Gaz'd on each marble shrine, each sacred fane,
Fresh rising (thus it seem'd), and that lov'd plain,
Where Athens saw her own Minerva reign.
Genius of Greece! what sounds his ear invade,
Breath'd by thy lips from Delphi's depth of shade!
How roll the kindling numbers soft or strong,
In all the awful majesty of song.
What voice prophetic sounds from Cirrha's cave!
How sweet the warbling of the Thespian wave!
Lov'd Amymoné! and ye gales that bring
The silver drops to pale Pyrene's spring,
Shook from your lucid plumes!---ye linger'd
there,
Waking soft echoes from the listening air.
While o'er each twilight vale, and haunted grove,
Young Fancy's hand its wild embroidery wove,
Flung o'er the earth, a light immortal given,
And hung with flowery brede the purple zone of
heaven.
Him by far Deva's banks the Muses found
(Their favourite haunt) or Severn's western bounu,
Musing on Merlin's art (his earliest theme),
Or Uther's son ;-then by the shadowy stream
Of Trent or Tamar, visions strange would be
Of ships from Troy, ploughing the British sea.
First from Kent's chalky headlands the salt tide
Dividing, were green Ida's oaks espied,
Bound for th' old giant's isle-anon they past
The shore, and Brutus' colours on the mast.
Then (twilight dreams) would fabling fancy tell
Of the dark talisman, the potent spell,
And dwarfs, an elfin crew, around the sorcerer's
cell;
Of fragrant groves, with mystic garlands hung,
Of viewless harps on high (tales yet unsung),
Tall steeds caparison'd, and knights afield,
The glittering scutcheon, and the emblazon'd shield,
The trumpet wailing o'er the warrior slain;
(Like him who fell on Fontarabia's plain;
The peerless chief long wept in many a poet's
strain.)
There the rich doors their ivory valves unfold,
Forth issuing many a knight and emir old,
And broider'd caftans shine, and garments stiff
Crossing the sunny cove, with glancing sail,
There flits the fairy pinnace down the gale.
Round the tall prow the sparkling waves behold,
The silken cordage, and the cloth of gold.
Child of the sea !—the mantle and the ring,
And the bright sword proclaim the Armoric king!
There, touch'd with light the rich pavilion gleams,
Where the green forest's pensile foliage streams.
Stretch'd on the ground the weary falconers lie,
Gaze-hound, and horn, and bleeding quarry
nigh;
[on high.
And mantling on his perch, the hooded hawk
Sweet forms were seen, and voices down the glade,
Tapestry and lute, on moss and wild flowers laid,
And many an ermin'd cap and jewell'd ring,
And the blue plumage of the Heron's wing,
And milk-white hinds, the fairest creatures seen,
Tripping with snowy feet across the alleys green.
Bright was the bower, a silver colonnade Spread its sun-chequer'd floor, where light and shade
Alternate with the varying zephyr play'd. Young lips were trembling with sweet whispers there:
Lady, I could have lov'd thee, though less fair." How soft the breath of that consenting sigh! How bright the glances of that falcon eye! The look, the smile-a hermit's heart 'twould cheer: When beauty speaks-who can refuse to hear? Then vows were made; "Witness ye stars that shine!"
And-" Nay, sir Knight:" and " gentle mayflower mine!"
While chess and tables wile the hours away, With many a song between, and lusty roundelay.
But hark! a cry!—' to horse-no time afford, Grasp thou the lance, and gird thou on the sword! The foe's at hand-a field of blood to-dayEach to the rescue, fly-away, away!'
Chang'd is the scene-down yon sequester'd vale The chaunt comes floating from the cloisters pale. Psalter in hand, the long procession moves,
The tapers glare amid the yellow groves,
Then the low requiem's heard,-the prayer to save,
And holy symbols mark the Christian warrior's
Such were the pictur'd shadows that around
Bright fancy scatter'd on the enamell'd ground
From her rich urn-feeding the poet's mind
With visionary spells and truths refin'd;
And prescient of his future fame, bestow'd
The aspiring thought, and breath'd the words.
that glow'd.
Perchance by Harewood's tangled groves, or now
Musing upon the solitary brow
Of that dark rock, shadowing Sabrina's cave,
Her lily-paved banks, and pearly wave.
And, lo! rose other forms to meet him there,
The enchanted wood, the gentle lady fair,
The wizard's crystal glass, and that delusive
chair.
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