 | Landscapes in verse |  |
Lo! Fancy now is seated on the hill,
To etch the vernal landscape, as it spreads
In one unbounded prospect from the bower
And neighb'ring fount, sacred to Love sincere:
Ev'n there, methinks, we now together stand
At radiant morn, charm'd with these varied views:
The dwindled city half conceal'd in smoke:—
Mortals diminish'd,—to the blush of pride—
Hurrying like busy emmets thro' the street:—
The cultur'd gardens glittering in the dew:—
The scarce-distinguish'd husbandman, who bends
To dress the grateful soil:—The quiet sheep
Which on th'adjacent mountain seem to hang
Their fleeces on its sides:—The dusky car,
The intersecting roads, whose whit'ning gleam
Contrast the verdure of the smiling meads:—
The river, like a serpent, twining fair
In many a lucid labyrinth, glowing now
With Morn's reflected beam, now sombrous made
By darkling shadows as they flit along
Swifter than gliding spectres:—The small cots,
Abodes of wholesome labour—where we see
How few, how cheap, and easily supply'd
The real wants of man:—The pillar'd domes,
Abodes of wealth and grandeur—which display
Necessities that nature never form'd:—
A gorgeous waste of proud magnificence!—
And last we note the intermixing fanes,
Abodes of rapt devotion—which the sun,
As conscious of their sanctity, invests
With orient light, that like a glory plays
Upon the holy spire, and sainted tower!
To etch the vernal landscape, as it spreads
In one unbounded prospect from the bower
And neighb'ring fount, sacred to Love sincere:
Ev'n there, methinks, we now together stand
At radiant morn, charm'd with these varied views:
The dwindled city half conceal'd in smoke:—
Mortals diminish'd,—to the blush of pride—
Hurrying like busy emmets thro' the street:—
The cultur'd gardens glittering in the dew:—
The scarce-distinguish'd husbandman, who bends
To dress the grateful soil:—The quiet sheep
17
Their fleeces on its sides:—The dusky car,
The intersecting roads, whose whit'ning gleam
Contrast the verdure of the smiling meads:—
The river, like a serpent, twining fair
In many a lucid labyrinth, glowing now
With Morn's reflected beam, now sombrous made
By darkling shadows as they flit along
Swifter than gliding spectres:—The small cots,
Abodes of wholesome labour—where we see
How few, how cheap, and easily supply'd
The real wants of man:—The pillar'd domes,
Abodes of wealth and grandeur—which display
Necessities that nature never form'd:—
A gorgeous waste of proud magnificence!—
18
Abodes of rapt devotion—which the sun,
As conscious of their sanctity, invests
With orient light, that like a glory plays
Upon the holy spire, and sainted tower!
| Landscapes in verse | |