The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed With a Memoir by the Rev. Derwent Coleridge. Fourth Edition. In Two Volumes |
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LINES ON LEAVING OTTERTON. |
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 | The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed |  |
251
LINES ON LEAVING OTTERTON.
Sweet spot, whose real joy excels
What Fancy's pencil ever drew,
Where Innocence with Pleasure dwells.
And Peace with Poverty—adieu!
If perfect bliss resides on earth,
Here lies the spot that gives it birth.
What Fancy's pencil ever drew,
Where Innocence with Pleasure dwells.
And Peace with Poverty—adieu!
If perfect bliss resides on earth,
Here lies the spot that gives it birth.
And you, whose presence throws a gleam
Of pleasure o'er the poor man's lot,
Who well to Fancy's eye might seem
The Genii of the peaceful spot,—
Fond Memory oft will bring to view
The welcome that we found with you.
Of pleasure o'er the poor man's lot,
Who well to Fancy's eye might seem
The Genii of the peaceful spot,—
Fond Memory oft will bring to view
The welcome that we found with you.
It is not yours in hall or bower
The semblance of a smile to wear;
But yours it is, in sorrow's hour,
To stop the sufferer's falling tear:
Nor yours the fleeting vain reward
That earthly pow'r and pomp award.
The semblance of a smile to wear;
But yours it is, in sorrow's hour,
To stop the sufferer's falling tear:
Nor yours the fleeting vain reward
That earthly pow'r and pomp award.
252
From pomp and power men are riven
At every change of Fortune's will;
One purer bliss to you is given,
A heart that acts not, thinks not, ill.
The tyrant well for such a gem
Might quit his blood-bought diadem
At every change of Fortune's will;
One purer bliss to you is given,
A heart that acts not, thinks not, ill.
The tyrant well for such a gem
Might quit his blood-bought diadem
But we must part at length; 'tis sad
Upon such scenes as these to dwell,
Since scenes like these can only add
New sorrow to our long farewell:
Pure was our happiness—no more!
We part; that happiness is o'er.
Upon such scenes as these to dwell,
Since scenes like these can only add
New sorrow to our long farewell:
Pure was our happiness—no more!
We part; that happiness is o'er.
We go; but we shall not forget
Those symptoms of a friendly heart,
The smile you wore because we met,
The tear you shed because we part;
And Hope already paints how sweet
The hour when we again shall meet.
Those symptoms of a friendly heart,
The smile you wore because we met,
The tear you shed because we part;
And Hope already paints how sweet
The hour when we again shall meet.
1817
| The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed | |