AND IMAGINATION. 467 



Lo ! where yon vale unfolds its pietuiM site, 



And meads and cornfields mix their gay attire ; 

 Strjep-cots and herds, and sprinkled cottage white, 



Stream, busy mill, deep wood, and tufted spire. 



Can ermin'd guilt," when every scheme succeeds, 



Feel half .he joy that stirs your generous breast, 

 As, pleas'd, ye ponder o'er these simple meads, 



Compute their charms, and share their balmy rest 1 



And mark, untouch'd by city broils, the reign 



Of rural comfort, cheerfulness, and ease ; 

 Of health, embloom'd from every sweet-brier lane, 



And 1'aiih and morals wholesome as the breeze. 



Go climb yon castled cliff that meets the sky, 



And tells of times tradition cannot reach ; 

 And o'er the ruins, as ye throw your eye, 



Of rocks and towers, with many a hoary breach, 



Say does the wreck of nature and of art, 



The wild cascade, and echo undefin'd, 

 The grandeur, arid the solitude impart 



No pleasing train of image to the mind ? 



Or would ye change, for all that wealth can stake, 



Ambition's plume, or lawless Pleasure's prime, 

 The feelings, then, that through the bosom wake, 



And rouse the soul to ecstasies sublime 1 



Yet these and countless sympathies like these, 



Of purest zest, are yours, and yours alone: 

 Guilt knows them not, nor dull unwieldy Ease, 



For Sensibility and Taste are one. 



And well, thus gifted, may ye bear the thrill 



Of social sorrows and ideal wrong ; 

 Th' Eoliiin harp that heaven's pure breezes fill, 



Must breathe, at times, a melancholy song. 



THE END. 



