University of Virginia Library

Who so unfeeling, who so bold,
To judge that fictions, idly told,
Deform my verse, that only tries
To consecrate realities?
If e'er th' unworthy thought should come,
Let strong conviction strike them dumb.
Go to the proof; your steed prepare,
Drink nature's cup, the rapture share;
If dull you find your devious course,
Your tour is useless—sell your horse.

Ye who, ingulf'd in trade, endure
What gold alone can never cure;
The constant sigh for scenes of peace,
From the world's trammels free release,
Wait not, (for reason's sake attend,)
Wait not in chains till times shall mend;
Till the clear voice, grown hoarse and gruff,
Cries, “Now I'll go, I'm rich enough.”
Youth, and the prime of manhood, seize;
Steal ten days absence, ten days ease;
Bid ledgers from your minds depart;
Let mem'ry's treasures cheer the heart;
And when your children round you grow,
With opening charms and manly brow,
Talk of the Wye as some old dream,
Call it the wild, the wizard stream;
Sink in your broad arm-chair to rest,
And youth shall smile to see you bless'd.

Artists, betimes your powers employ,
And take the pilgrimage of joy;
The eye of genius may behold
A thousand beauties here untold;
Rock, that defies the winter's storm;
Wood, in its most imposing form,
That climbs the mountain, bows below,
Where deep th' unsullied waters flow.
Here Gilpin's eye, transported, scann'd
Views by no tricks of fancy plann'd;
Gray here, upon the stream reclined,
Stored with delight his ardent mind.
But let the vacant trifler stray
From thy enchantments far away;
For should, from fashion's rainbow train,
The idle and the vicious vain
In sacrilege presume to move
Through these dear scenes of peace and love,
The spirit of the stream would rise
In wrathful mood and tenfold size,
And nobly guard his Coldwell Spring,
And bid his inmost caverns ring;
Loud thund'ring on the giddy crew,
“My stream was never meant for you.”
But ye, to nobler feelings born,
Who sense and nature dare not scorn,
Glide gaily on, and ye shall find
The blest serenity of mind
That springs from silence; or shall raise
The hand, the eye, the voice of praise.
Live then, sweet stream! and henceforth be
The darling of posterity;
Loved for thyself, for ever dear,
Like beauty's smile and virtue's tear,
Till Time his striding race give o'er,
And verse itself shall charm no more.