LINES
Sent to Mr.
Hayley
, on having visited his Villa, in
Sussex
,
while he was absent.
Eartham, thy lovely scenes I sought,
Scenes to the Muses justly dear;
And ardent wish'd, and idly thought
To find our British Maro there.
Vain was the wish—for I could send
No herald on the wings of fame,
No Poet's title—though a friend
To all that ever bore the name.
Hence, have I pac'd, with pilgrim feet,
Where Amwell's Druid rear'd his groves;
And mourn'd—around his lone retreat
That now no wonted spirit roves.
Have trod, where long the Seasons' Bard
In Sheen's dull earth unheeded lay;
And half the pious labour shar'd,
That plac'd a moral o'er his clay.
And late—where rapt Aruna's swain
Modul'd his wild harp to the wind,
Have paus'd to trace—alas! in vain—
Some relique, haply, left behind.
Then, Eartham, let thy Master know,
Tho' luckless was the stranger-guest,
His bosom felt no common glow,
As thy Arcadian couch he press'd.
For there with Taste did Genius blend,
There Hayley once his Cowper join'd;
And who is Cowper's chosen friend,
Must be the friend of human kind!
