Ii

Ye plough-shares sparkling on the slopes! Ye snow-white lambs that trip Imprisoned 'mid the formal props Of restless ownership! Ye trees, that may to-morrow fall To feed the insatiate Prodigal! Lawns, houses, chattels, groves, and fields, All that the fertile valley shields; Wages of folly--baits of crime, Of life's uneasy game the stake, Playthings that keep the eyes awake Of drowsy, dotard Time;-- O care! O guilt!--O vales and plains, Here, 'mid his own unvexed domains, A Genius dwells, that can subdue At once all memory of You,-- Most potent when mists veil the sky, Mists that distort and magnify; While the coarse rushes, to the sweeping breeze, Sigh forth their ancient melodies!