Written at Piercefield, the Admired Scenery of the Late V M, Esq.
No tribute here to him that fled
The scene his careless bounty fed?
None to the hospitable board,
That spar'd no measure to its hoard? —
None to the polish'd grace and wit,
That in his Attic chair would sit? —
None, to the piercing eye of Taste,
Which this Arcadian landscape trac'd? —
Though, in the miracle achiev'd,
No human efforts are believ'd?
His indiscretions , in a tear,
Love's holy dew, are bury'd here;
And Memory, averting blame,
Shall breathe his feelings on his name.
The scene his careless bounty fed?
None to the hospitable board,
That spar'd no measure to its hoard? —
None to the polish'd grace and wit,
That in his Attic chair would sit? —
None, to the piercing eye of Taste,
Which this Arcadian landscape trac'd? —
Though, in the miracle achiev'd,
No human efforts are believ'd?
His indiscretions , in a tear,
Love's holy dew, are bury'd here;
And Memory, averting blame,
Shall breathe his feelings on his name.
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