 | The Works of Thomas Love Peacock |  |
Within the sacred altar's mystic shade,
I see thee stand, in spotless white array'd;
I hear thee there thy home, thy name resign,
I hear the awful vow that seals thee mine.
Not on my birth propitious Fortune smil'd,
Nor proud Ambition mark'd me for her child;
For me no dome with festal splendor shines;
No pamper'd lacquies spread their length'ning lines;
No venal crowds my nod obsequious wait;
No summer-friends besiege my narrow gate;
Joys such as these, if joys indeed they be,
Indulgent Nature ne'er design'd for me:
I ask them not: she play'd a kinder part:
She gave a nobler gift, Rosalia's heart.
I see thee stand, in spotless white array'd;
I hear thee there thy home, thy name resign,
I hear the awful vow that seals thee mine.
Not on my birth propitious Fortune smil'd,
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For me no dome with festal splendor shines;
No pamper'd lacquies spread their length'ning lines;
No venal crowds my nod obsequious wait;
No summer-friends besiege my narrow gate;
Joys such as these, if joys indeed they be,
Indulgent Nature ne'er design'd for me:
I ask them not: she play'd a kinder part:
She gave a nobler gift, Rosalia's heart.
The simple dwelling, by affection rear'd;
The smiling plains, by calm content endear'd;
The classic book-case, deck'd with learning's store,
Rich in historic truth, and bardic lore;
The garden-walks, in Nature's liv'ry dress'd;
Will these suffice to make Rosalia bless'd?
And will she never feel a wish to roam
Beyond the limits of our rural home?
The smiling plains, by calm content endear'd;
The classic book-case, deck'd with learning's store,
Rich in historic truth, and bardic lore;
The garden-walks, in Nature's liv'ry dress'd;
Will these suffice to make Rosalia bless'd?
And will she never feel a wish to roam
Beyond the limits of our rural home?
| The Works of Thomas Love Peacock | |