Old caftles on the cliffs arife,
Proudly tow'ring in the skies!
Rufhing from the woods, the fpires
Seem from hence afcending fires!
Half his beams Apollo fheds
On the yellow mountain-heads!
Gilds the fleeces of the flocks;
And glitters on the broken rocks!
Below me trees unnumber'd rife,
Beautiful in various dyes:
The gloomy pine, the poplar blue,
The yellow beech, the fable yew,
The flender fir, that taper grows,
The sturdy oak with broad-spread boughs.
And beyond the purple grove,
Haunt of Phillis, queen of love!
Gaudy as the op'ning dawn,
Lies a long and level lawn,
On which a dark hill, fteep and high,
Holds and charms the wand'ring eye!
Deep are his feet in Towy's flood,
His fides are cloath'd with waving wood,
And ancient towers crown his brow,
That caft an awful look below;
Whofe ragged walls the ivy creeps,
And with her arms from falling keeps ;
So both a fafety from the wind
On mutual dependence find.
'Tis now the raven's bleak abode;
'Tis now th' apartment of the toad;
And there the fox fecurely feeds;
And there the pois'nous adder breeds,
Conceal'd in ruins, mofs and weeds:
While, ever and anon, there falls
Huge heaps of hoary moulder'd walls.
Yet time has feen, that lifts the low,
And level lays the lofty brow,
Has feen this broken pile compleat,
Big with the vanity of ftate;
But tranfient is the fmile of fate!
A little rule, a little sway,
A fun-beam in a winter's day,
Is all the proud and mighty have
Between the cradle and the grave.
And fee the rivers how they run,
Thro' woods and meads, in fhade and fun,
Sometimes fwift, and fometimes flow,
Wave fucceeding wave, they go
A various journey to the deep,
Like human life to endless sleep!
Thus is nature's vesture wrought,
To inftruct our wand'ring thought;
Thus fhe dreffes green and gay,
To difperfe our cares away.
Ever charming, ever new,
When will the landskip tire the view!
The fountain's fall, the river's flow,
The woody vallies, warm and low;
The windy fummit, wild and high,
Roughly rufhing on the sky!
The pleasant seat, the ruin'd tow'r,
The naked rock, the fhady bow`r;
The town and village, dome and farm,
Each give each a double charm,
As pearls upon an Æthiop's arm.
See on the mountain's fouthern fide,
Where the prospect opens wide,
Where the evening gilds the tide ;
How close and small the hedges lie!
What streaks of meadows crofs the eye!
A step methinks may pass the stream,
So little diftant dangers feem;
So we mistake the future's face,
Ey'd thro' hope's deluding glass;
fummits foft and fair,
Clad in colours of the air,
Which to those who journey near,
Barren, and brown, and rough appear;
Still we tread the fame coarse way,
The prefent's still a cloudy day.
O may I with myself agree,
And never covet what I fee:
Content me with an humble fhade,
My paffions tam'd, my wifhes laid;
For while our wishes wildly roll,
We banish quiet from the foul:
'Tis thus the busy beat the air;
And mifers gather wealth and care.
Now, ev'n now, my joy runs high,
As on the mountain-turf I lie;
While the wanton Zephyr fings,
And in the vale perfumes his wings;
While the waters murmur deep;
While the fhepherd charms his fheep;
While the birds unbounded fly,
And with mufick fill the sky,
Now, ev'n now, my joy runs high.
Be full, ye courts, be great who will; Search for Peace with all your fkill: Open wide the lofty door,
Seek her on the marble floor,
In vain you fearch, she is not there;
In vain ye search the domes of care!
Grafs and flowers Quiet treads,
On the meads, and mountain-heads,
Along with Pleasure, close ally'd,
Ever by each other's fide:
And often, by the murm'ring rill,
Hears the thrush, while all is ftill,
Within the groves of Grongar-Hill.
Afpice murorum moles, præruptaque faxa,
Obrutaque borrenti vafta theatra fitu:
Hæc funt Roma. Viden' velut ipfa cadavera tantæ
Urbis adhuc fpirent imperiofa minas ?
NOUGH of Grongar, and the fhady dales
Of winding Towy, Merlin's fabled haunt,
I fung inglorious. Now the love of arts,
And what in metal or in ftone remains
Of proud antiquity, thro' various realms
And various languages and ages fam'd,
Bears me remote, o'er Gallia's woody bounds,
O'er the cloud-piercing Alps remote; beyond
The vale of Arno purpled with the vine,
Beyond the Umbrian and Etrufcan hills,
To Latium's wide champain, forlorn and waste,
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