Poussin! most pleasantly thy pictur'd scenes

  Beguile the lonely hour; I sit and gaze

  With lingering eye, till charmed FANCY makes

  The lovely landscape live, and the rapt soul

  From the foul haunts of herded humankind

  Flies far away with spirit speed, and tastes

  The untainted air, that with the lively hue

  Of health and happiness illumes the cheek

  Of mountain LIBERTY. My willing soul

  All eager follows on thy faery flights

  FANCY! best friend; whose blessed witcheries

  With loveliest prospects cheat the traveller

  O'er the long wearying desart of the world.

  Nor dost thou FANCY with such magic mock

  My heart, as, demon-born, old Merlin knew,

  Or Alquif, or Zarzafiel's sister sage,

  Whose vengeful anguish for so many a year

  Held in the jacinth sepulchre entranced

  Lisvart and Perion, pride of chivalry.

  Friend of my lonely hours! thou leadest me

  To such calm joys as Nature wise and good

  Proffers in vain to all her wretched sons;

  Her wretched sons who pine with want amid

  The abundant earth, and blindly bow them down

  Before the Moloch shrines of WEALTH and POWER,

  AUTHORS of EVIL. Oh it is most sweet

  To medicine with thy wiles the wearied heart,

  Sick of reality. The little pile

  That tops the summit of that craggy hill

  Shall be my dwelling; craggy is the hill

  And steep, yet thro' yon hazels upward leads

  The easy path, along whose winding way

  Now close embowered I hear the unseen stream

  Dash down, anon behold its sparkling foam

  Gleam thro' the thicket; and ascending on

  Now pause me to survey the goodly vale

  That opens on my vision. Half way up

  Pleasant it were upon some broad smooth rock

  To sit and sun me, and look down below

  And watch the goatherd down that high-bank'd path

  Urging his flock grotesque; and bidding now

  His lean rough dog from some near cliff to drive

  The straggler; while his barkings loud and quick

  Amid their trembling bleat arising oft,

  Fainter and fainter from the hollow road

  Send their far echoes, till the waterfall,

  Hoarse bursting from the cavern'd cliff beneath,

  Their dying murmurs drown. A little yet

  Onward, and I have gain'd the upmost height.

  Fair spreads the vale below: I see the stream

  Stream radiant on beneath the noontide sky.

  Where the town-spires behind the castle towers

  Rise graceful; brown the mountain in its shade,

  Whose circling grandeur, part by mists conceal'd,

  Part with white rocks resplendant in the sun,

  Should bound mine eyes; aye and my wishes too,

  For I would have no hope or fear beyond.

  The empty turmoil of the worthless world,

  Its vanities and vices would not vex

  My quiet heart. The traveller, who beheld

  The low tower of the little pile, might deem

  It were the house of GOD: nor would he err

  So deeming, for that home would be the home

  Of PEACE and LOVE, and they would hallow it

  To HIM. Oh life of blessedness! to reap

  The fruit of honorable toil, and bound

  Our wishes with our wants! delightful Thoughts

  That sooth the solitude of maniac HOPE,

  Ye leave her to reality awak'd,

  Like the poor captive, from some fleeting dream

  Of friends and liberty and home restor'd,

  Startled, and listening as the midnight storm

  Beats hard and heavy thro' his dungeon bars.