SO MARCHES THE GOD -OF- DAY 



Yet, where the guardian fence is wound, 

 So subtly are our eyes beguiled 

 We see not nor suspect a bound, 

 No more than in some forest wild ; 

 The sight is free as air or crost 

 Only by art in nature lost. 



And, though the jealous turf refuse 

 By random footsteps to be prest, 

 And feed on never-sullied dews, 

 Ye, gentle breezes from the west, 

 With all the ministers of hope 

 Are tempted to this sunny slope! 



And hither throngs of birds resort; 

 Some, inmates lodged in shady nests, 

 Some, perched on stems of stately port 

 That nod to welcome transient guests; 

 While hare and leveret, seen at play, 

 Appear not more shut out than they. 



Apt emblem (for repose of pride) 

 This delicate enclosure shows 

 Of modest kindness, that would hide 

 The firm protection she bestows; 



[169] 



