10
My son shall guard you, and amid your bowers,
Like me, find shelter from life's beating showers.
These thoughts, my father, every spot endear;
And whilst I think, with self-accusing pain,
A stranger shall possess the loved domain,
In each low wind I seem thy voice to hear.
But these are shadows of the shaping brain
That now my heart, alas! can ill sustain:
We must forget--the world is wide--the abode
Of peace may still be found, nor hard the road. 20
It boots not, so, to every chance resigned,
Where'er the spot, we bear the unaltered mind.
Yet, oh! poor cottage, and thou sylvan shade,
Remember, ere I left your coverts green,
Where in my youth I mused, in childhood played,
I gazed, I paused, I dropped a tear unseen,
That bitter from the font of memory fell,
Thinking on him who reared you; now, farewell!

ELEGIAC STANZAS.

WRITTEN DURING SICKNESS AT BATH.

When I lie musing on my bed alone, 1
And listen to the wintry waterfall;[43]
And many moments that are past and gone,
Moments of sunshine and of joy, recall;

Though the long night is dark and damp around, 2
And no still star hangs out its friendly flame;
And the winds sweep the sash with sullen sound,
And freezing palsy creeps o'er all my frame;

I catch consoling phantasies that spring 3
From the thick gloom, and as the night airs beat,
They touch my heart, like wind-swift wires[44] that ring
In mournful modulations, strange and sweet.

Was it the voice of thee, my buried friend? 4
Was it the whispered vow of faithful love?
Do I in Knoyle's green shades thy steps attend,
And hear the high pines murmur thus above?

'Twas not thy voice, my buried friend!--Oh, no: 5
'Twas not, O Knoyle! the murmur of thy trees;
But at the thought I feel my bosom glow,
And woo the dream whose air-drawn shadows please.

And I can think I see the groves again, 6
The larches that yon peaceful roof embower;
The airy down, the cattle-speckled plain,
And the slant sunshine on the village tower.

And I can think I hear its Sabbath chime 7
Come smoothly softened down the woody vale;