To Sir William Bennet
While now in discord giddy changes reel,
And some are rack'd about on fortune's wheel,
You, with undaunted stalk and brow serene,
May trace your groves, and press the dewy green;
No guilty twangs your manly joys to wound,
Or horrid dreams to make your sleep unsound.
To such as you who can mean care despise,
Nature 's all beautiful 'twixt earth and skies.
Not hurried with the thirst of unjust gain,
You can delight yourself on hill or plain,
Observing when those tender sprouts appear,
Which crowd with fragrant sweets the youthful year.
Your lovely scenes of Marlefield abound
With as much choice as is in Britain found:
Here fairest plants from nature's bosom start
From soil prolific, serv'd with curious art;
Here oft the heedful gazer is beguil'd,
And wanders thro' an artificial wild,
While native flow'ry green, and crystal strands,
Appear the labours of ingenious hands.
Most happy he who can these sweets enjoy
With taste refin'd, which does not easy cloy.
Not so plebeian souls, whom sporting fate
Thrusts into life upon a large estate,
While spleen their weak imagination sours,
They 're at a loss how to employ their hours:
The sweetest plants which fairest gardens show
Are lost to them, for them unheeded grow:
Such purblind eyes ne'er view the son'rous page,
Where shine the raptures of poetic rage;
Nor thro' the microscope can take delight
T' observe the tusks and bristles of a mite;
Nor by the lengthen'd tube learn to descry
Those shining worlds which roll around the sky.
Bid such read hist'ry to improve their skill,
Polite excuse! their memories are ill:
Moll's maps may in their dining-rooms make show,
But their contents they 're not oblig'd to know;
And gen'rous friendship 's out of sight too fine,
They think it only means a glass of wine.
But he whose cheerful mind hath higher flown,
And adds learn'd thoughts of others to his own;
Has seen the world, and read the volume Man,
And can the springs and ends of action scan;
Has fronted death in service of his king,
And drunken deep of the Castalian spring;
This man can live, and happiest life 's his due;
Can be a friend — a virtue known to view;
Yet all such virtues strongly shine in you.
And some are rack'd about on fortune's wheel,
You, with undaunted stalk and brow serene,
May trace your groves, and press the dewy green;
No guilty twangs your manly joys to wound,
Or horrid dreams to make your sleep unsound.
To such as you who can mean care despise,
Nature 's all beautiful 'twixt earth and skies.
Not hurried with the thirst of unjust gain,
You can delight yourself on hill or plain,
Observing when those tender sprouts appear,
Which crowd with fragrant sweets the youthful year.
Your lovely scenes of Marlefield abound
With as much choice as is in Britain found:
Here fairest plants from nature's bosom start
From soil prolific, serv'd with curious art;
Here oft the heedful gazer is beguil'd,
And wanders thro' an artificial wild,
While native flow'ry green, and crystal strands,
Appear the labours of ingenious hands.
Most happy he who can these sweets enjoy
With taste refin'd, which does not easy cloy.
Not so plebeian souls, whom sporting fate
Thrusts into life upon a large estate,
While spleen their weak imagination sours,
They 're at a loss how to employ their hours:
The sweetest plants which fairest gardens show
Are lost to them, for them unheeded grow:
Such purblind eyes ne'er view the son'rous page,
Where shine the raptures of poetic rage;
Nor thro' the microscope can take delight
T' observe the tusks and bristles of a mite;
Nor by the lengthen'd tube learn to descry
Those shining worlds which roll around the sky.
Bid such read hist'ry to improve their skill,
Polite excuse! their memories are ill:
Moll's maps may in their dining-rooms make show,
But their contents they 're not oblig'd to know;
And gen'rous friendship 's out of sight too fine,
They think it only means a glass of wine.
But he whose cheerful mind hath higher flown,
And adds learn'd thoughts of others to his own;
Has seen the world, and read the volume Man,
And can the springs and ends of action scan;
Has fronted death in service of his king,
And drunken deep of the Castalian spring;
This man can live, and happiest life 's his due;
Can be a friend — a virtue known to view;
Yet all such virtues strongly shine in you.
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.