 | The Poetical Works of Robert Anderson |  |
10
INSCRIPTION WRITTEN AT CORBY CASTLE,
THE ROMANTIC SEAT OF HENRY HOWARD, ESQ.
“Let others praise the Leasowe's plains,
Where Shenstone tun'd his love-lorn strains—
What, tho' he sung of groves, and bow'rs;
Of winding paths bestrewn with flow'rs;
Of murmuring streamlets, echoing glades,
Woods, lawns, and minstrel-haunted shades;
His lambkins sporting near the brook,
His garland, pipe, or shepherd's crook;
'Twas Art and Fancy brought to view,
What Nature here presents to you.”
Where Shenstone tun'd his love-lorn strains—
What, tho' he sung of groves, and bow'rs;
Of winding paths bestrewn with flow'rs;
Of murmuring streamlets, echoing glades,
Woods, lawns, and minstrel-haunted shades;
His lambkins sporting near the brook,
His garland, pipe, or shepherd's crook;
'Twas Art and Fancy brought to view,
What Nature here presents to you.”
Reader, if rocks, woods, waters, lawns, and meads,
Or aught of nature's captivating dress,—
If warbling hymns in the Creator's praise,
Pour'd all around from many a balmy brake,
Thy mind can charm; thrice welcome to these shades,
Where peace and mild content for ever dwell.
Now while thy wearied limbs at rest are laid,
In some sequester'd bow'r free from all noise;
Save melodies from many a woodland choir,
Or Eden murm'ring o'er his rocky bed:
Bethink thee, as the waters glide along,
So pass thy days; but never to return.
Or aught of nature's captivating dress,—
If warbling hymns in the Creator's praise,
Pour'd all around from many a balmy brake,
Thy mind can charm; thrice welcome to these shades,
Where peace and mild content for ever dwell.
Now while thy wearied limbs at rest are laid,
In some sequester'd bow'r free from all noise;
Save melodies from many a woodland choir,
11
Bethink thee, as the waters glide along,
So pass thy days; but never to return.
If e'er the lofty pine attract thine eye,
'Twill lead thy thoughts to Heav'n. In musing mood,
The wide-stretched mountain, the proud oak-crown'd rock,
The wood of many hues, the far-heard stream,
The sportive flock that graze the velvet lawn;
Nay ev'n the grassy turf o'er which we tread,
Green habitation of the insect world,
Each speaks in silent eloquence of God.
'Twill lead thy thoughts to Heav'n. In musing mood,
The wide-stretched mountain, the proud oak-crown'd rock,
The wood of many hues, the far-heard stream,
The sportive flock that graze the velvet lawn;
Nay ev'n the grassy turf o'er which we tread,
Green habitation of the insect world,
Each speaks in silent eloquence of God.
Perchance, in quest of rural nook thou stray'st,
A stranger to these much-lov'd scenes; then know,
The virtuous owners of this blest abode,
By justice, charity, and boundless love,
Endearing man to man, examples great,
Give lustre never-fading to the spot.
A stranger to these much-lov'd scenes; then know,
The virtuous owners of this blest abode,
By justice, charity, and boundless love,
Endearing man to man, examples great,
Give lustre never-fading to the spot.
If in thy bosom beats a patriot's heart,
Indignant at the threats and murd'rous deeds
Of him, thy happy country's high-swol'n foe;
Lo! Howard hails thee, welcome to his seat.
But should cold apathy enslave thy mind,
And thou of England's weal regardless roam'st;
Or feel'st not for thy brethren, Afric's sons,
By Europeans torn from friends and home,
Exil'd for ever for thy luxuries;
Weak votary to pleasure, pride, or pow'r,
Hence, laugh with folly in the noisy town!
Indignant at the threats and murd'rous deeds
Of him, thy happy country's high-swol'n foe;
Lo! Howard hails thee, welcome to his seat.
But should cold apathy enslave thy mind,
12
Or feel'st not for thy brethren, Afric's sons,
By Europeans torn from friends and home,
Exil'd for ever for thy luxuries;
Weak votary to pleasure, pride, or pow'r,
Hence, laugh with folly in the noisy town!
July, 1803.
| The Poetical Works of Robert Anderson | |