University of Virginia Library

On leaving the Bottoms of Glocestershire; where the Author had been entertained by several families with great hospitality.

Regions of hospitality! dear scenes
Where I have loiter'd cheerily, and quaft
The nectar'd bowl of Friendship, or have rov'd
The live-long summer's day, in pensive thought,
Or kindlier converse—Ah! delightful vales!
O'er which the hand of partial Nature sheds
Each wilder grace, while Culture and the Arts
Of civiliz'd improvement spread around
Their gay varieties, enlivening all
With social decoration—fare ye well—
For I must leave ye, pleasant haunts! brakes, bourns,
And populous hill, and dale, and pendant woods;
And you, meandering streams, and you, ye cots
And hamlets, that, with many a whiten'd front,
Sprinkle the woody steep; or lowlier stoop,
Thronging, gregarious, round the rustic spire,
Warm in the quiet glen. Ah! with what joy
(Scenes that I leave reluctant!) with what joy
Have I beheld ye, at the varying hour,
Dawn, or the noon of night, or mid the glare
Of Phœbus' sultry season, when your groves
Woo'd to sequester'd musings. Thence, how sweet
(From your romantic scenes, and sylvan haunts—
Tho sylvan, yet not solitary) to hear
The distant hum, that, as from nectar'd hives
Stor'd with the fragrance of your thymie banks,
Came whispering on the breeze: for not to gloom
Lethargic, or the hermit's inward prayer
Of visionary silence, are your haunts
(As erst, perchance, in Superstition's day)
Consign'd, and pious inutility—
Once holy deem'd. Here holier Industry,
Even from the dawning to the western ray,
And oft by midnight taper, patient, plies
Her task assiduous; and the day with songs,
The night with many an earth-star, far descried
By the lone traveller, cheers amidst her toil.
Nor cheerless she; nor to her numerous race—
If semblance may be trusted—(as too oft)
Like a penurious step-dame, scantily
'The appointed task rewarding. By her side
Sits lowly Comfort, in her decent stole
(If homely, yet commodious,) dealing round
The well-earn'd bread of sustenance; while shout
The circling infants; their sleek ruddy cheeks,
Like the sunn'd side of brown Pomona's fruit,
Gladdening the kindred eye. Ah! 'tis a scene
That wakes to social rapture. Nor, as yet,
Towers from each peaceful dell the unwieldy pride
Of Factory over-grown; where Opulence,
Dispeopling the neat cottage, crowds his walls
(Made pestilent by congregated lungs,
And lewd association) with a race
Of infant slaves, brok'n timely to the yoke
Of unremitting Drudgery—no more
By relative endearment, or the voice
Of matronly instruction, interspers'd—
Cheering, or sage; nor by the sports relax'd
(To such how needful!) of their unknit prime
Once deem'd the lawful charter. Little here
Intrude such pompous mansions—better miss'd.
Therefore I love thee, Chalford, and ye vales
Of Stroud, irriguous: but still more I love
For hospitable pleasures here enjoy'd,
And cordial intercourse. Yet must I leave
Your social haunts—for not my unblest feet
Yet may I rest, or my long wanderings close,
Tho weary'd: but thro' many an untried scene
(Perhaps from this how differing!) shape my way,
Beneath my weight of sorrows; where to find
Some nook obscure, that I may lay them down,
And lap me in Oblivion. Once again,
Then, once again, and my full heart no more
Lingering shall falter—once again, farewell—
Dear scenes of hospitality and joy!—
A long farewell:—for I, perchance, no more,
Lonely, or mingling with the cordial group
That made your haunts thrice lovely, hence shall trace
Your wild varieties. Yet in my heart
Shall live your scenes endear'd; and when, at eve,
With her, my soul's lov'd partner, by the light
Of blazing fuel, o'er the wint'ry hearth,
Of joys past by, and the remember'd smiles
Of friendship, still more cheering, I renew
The treasur'd images, ah! then the names
Of Norton and of Newcomb—on my tongue,
And hospitable Partridge, not unmark'd
With lengthen'd emphasis, shall frequent dwell:
And theirs, the cordial youths, who to each scene
Of curious observation led my steps
Inquisitive; and, with their social mirth,
Deceiv'd the way. And, as these scenes renew'd,
Cheer our lone cottage, the sooth'd heart shall smile,
Conciliated, that, some there are—some few,
Still warm and generous, by the changeling world
Not yet debauch'd, nor to the yoke of fear
Bending the abject neck: but who, erect
In conscious principle, still dare to love
The Man proscrib'd for loving human kind.