POEMS 169 



Sour Parsimony's words he seldom weigh'd, 

 His heart's warm impulse was the guide alone, 

 When suffering friendship sigh'd, or weeping wretch 

 did moan. 



Dear, dear to him Affection's ardent glow, 

 Alas ! from all he lov'd for ever torn. 

 E'en now, as Memory's sad reflections flow, 

 Deep grief o'erwhelms him and he weeps forlorn ; 

 By hopeless thought, by wasting sorrow worn. 

 Around on Nature's scenes he turns his eye, 

 Charm'd with her peaceful eve, her fragrant morn, 

 Her green magnificence, her gloomiest sky, 

 That fill th' exulting soul with admiration high. 



One charming nymph with transport he adores. 

 Fair Science, crown'd with many a figur'd sign; 

 Her smiles, her sweet society implores. 

 And mixes jocund with th' encircling nine; 

 While Mathematics solves his dark design, 

 Sweet Music soothes him with her syren strains, 

 Seraphic Poetry with warmth divine, 

 Exalts him far above celestial plains. 

 And Painting's fairy hand his mimic pencil trains. 



Adown each side of his sequester'd cot. 



Two bubbling streamlets wind their rocky way, 



And mingling as they leave this rural spot, 



Down thro' a woody vale meandering stray, 



Round many a moss-grown rock they dimpling play. 



Where laurel thickets clothe the steeps around, 



And oaks thick, towering quite shut out the day, 



And spread a venerable gloom profound. 



Made still more sweetly solemn by the riv'let's sound. 



