[Poems by Plato in] Essays including Biographies and Miscellaneous Pieces, in Prose and Poetry |
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THE RESIDENCE OF MY FATHER. |
 | [Poems by Plato in] Essays |  |
THE RESIDENCE OF MY FATHER.
How pleasantly my home does stand,
The scenery round is all but grand,
The noise is lull'd by rippling stream,
There all the rays of sun-shine gleam.
The scenery round is all but grand,
The noise is lull'd by rippling stream,
There all the rays of sun-shine gleam.
Thence at the foot of some lone tree,
Lull'd by the hum of wandering bee,
Or lisping to the whispering wind,
Proves satisfaction for the mind.
The morning lays are birds in song,
So often o'er the house they throng;
They perch upon the loftiest trees,
Where hum some very busy bees.
Lull'd by the hum of wandering bee,
Or lisping to the whispering wind,
Proves satisfaction for the mind.
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So often o'er the house they throng;
They perch upon the loftiest trees,
Where hum some very busy bees.
Delightful garden; now art thou
Among the beauties shining now:
The flowers are now in vareid bloom,
They shine as does the sun at noon,
The moss-cup, and perennial flowers,
Are too, refresh'd by genial showers.
Among the beauties shining now:
The flowers are now in vareid bloom,
They shine as does the sun at noon,
The moss-cup, and perennial flowers,
Are too, refresh'd by genial showers.
You rest, meek plants, nor do intrude,
Or trouble this deep solitude;
Behold the vines that twine the bowers,
Adorn'd with decorating flowers,
Observe the violet modest blue,
It is a ever changeless hue,
The snow-drop and the lilly white,
Are ting'd with meekness ever bright.
Or trouble this deep solitude;
Behold the vines that twine the bowers,
Adorn'd with decorating flowers,
Observe the violet modest blue,
It is a ever changeless hue,
The snow-drop and the lilly white,
Are ting'd with meekness ever bright.
Heaven bless you, O ye groves,
Of which my father knows,
I thank you to ye sounding stream,
How oft you've woke the musing dream,
And blent thine echo with my thought,
How oft I've thank'd thee for thy draught.
Of which my father knows,
I thank you to ye sounding stream,
How oft you've woke the musing dream,
And blent thine echo with my thought,
How oft I've thank'd thee for thy draught.
I soon may bid you all adieu,
For we cannot always stay,
And meet a scenery quite anew;
I'm sure to leave it, may be true,
And then we hasten and away:
Then may this Eden, beauty be
The same to stranger as to me.
For we cannot always stay,
And meet a scenery quite anew;
I'm sure to leave it, may be true,
And then we hasten and away:
Then may this Eden, beauty be
The same to stranger as to me.
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