Turns on the neighbouring hill, once more to see And as he turns, the thatch among the trees, The smoke's blue wreaths ascending with the breeze, And oft he looks and weeps, and looks again.) So, when the daring sons of Science drew1 To all his soul best lov'd, such tears he shed, So Scotia's Queen, as slowly dawn'd the day,? Rose on her couch, and gaz'd her soul away. Her eyes had bless'd the beacon's glimmering height That faintly tipt the feathery surge with light; But now the morn with orient hues pourtray'd Each castled cliff, and brown monastic shade; All touch'd the talisman's resistless spring, As kindred objects kindred thoughts excite, And hence this spot gives back the joys of youth, Venice should blush to hear the muse relate, Glad to return, though hope could grant no more, And hence the charm historic scenes impart : Hence Tiber awes, and Avon melts the heart. Aerial forms, in Tempe's classic vale, Glance through the gloom, and whisper in the gale; In wild Vaucluse with love and Laura dwell, And watch and weep in Eloisa's cell." 'Twas ever thus. As now at Virgil's tomb, In Rome's great forum, who but hears him roll And hence that calm delight the portrait gives: We gaze on every feature till it lives! Still the fond lover views the absent maid: And the lost friend still lingers in the shade! Say why the pensive widow loves to weep,3 The hoary grandsire smiles the hour away, What though the iron school of war erase And wake the tear to Pity's self denied. The intrepid Swiss, that guards a foreign shore, Condemn'd to climb his mountain-cliffs no more, If chance he hears the song so sweetly wild9 Which on those cliffs his infant hours beguil'd, Melts at the long-lost scenes that round him rise, And sinks a martyr to repentant sighs. Ask not if courts or camps dissolve the charm: Say why Vespasian lov'd his Sabine farm,10 Why great Navarre, when France and Freedom bled, 11 Sought the lone limits of a forest-shed. When Diocletian's self-corrected mind12 The imperial fasces of a world resign'd, Say why we trace the labours of his spade, In calm Salona's philosophic shade. Say when ambitious Charles renounc'd a throne,1 3 To muse with monks unletter'd and unknown, What from his soul the parting tribute drew? The still retreats that sooth'd his tranquil breast, Undamp'd by time, the generous instinct glows The social tribes its choicest influence hail : Oft has the aged tenant of the vale Lean'd on his staff to lengthen out the tale; Oft have his lips the grateful tribute breath'd, From sire to son with pious zeal bequeath'd. When o'er the blasted heath the day declin'd, And on the scath'd oak warr'd the wintry wind; When not a distant taper's twinkling ray Gleam'd o'er the furze to light him on his way; When not a sheep-bell sooth'd his listening eat, And the big rain-drops told the tempest near; |