On Leaving Eartham, His Seat in Sussex, Sept. 1782

To-morrow’s dawn must bring the unwelcome hour, When my reluctant spirit’s kind farewell Shall mourn in sighs, through Eartham’s beauteous bower, The vanish’d pleasures of the sylvan cell.

The clouds of future torpid days to chace, On its dear scenes the tender thought shall dwell, And Memory restore each lovely grace, That decks their radiant hill, and dusky dell.

The full luxuriance of yon sloping wood, Circling the golden field with pomp of shade, And, where mild Comfort’s downy pinions spread, The village, bosom’d in the leafy glade.

The path-way fence, with shrubs and florets strewn, Soft as it winds the bright mount’s steepy side; While, on th’ opposing hill, dark forests frown On the noon’s glory, in their sombrous pride.

Green as the livelier eminence ascends, The champaign splendours bursting on the sight, Where far and wide the dazzling vale extends, Clos’d by the distant main, that rolls in light!

Groves half as beauteous may delight these eyes, Thy bowers, gay Lichfield, lovely scenes afford; But ah! what keen regrets must wake my sighs, To miss the pleasures of the Haylean board!

Where, as his pencil, ROMNEY’S spirit warm, Glows with bold traits, original and strong, While HERON’S lays diffuse each tuneful charm; ELIZA’S wit enchants, and melting song.

But thou, dear Bard, our master-spring of joy, How shall I breathe to thee the sad farewell? Yet long thy kindness, grateful shall employ The mind it gladden’d in thy sylvan cell.