Lo, a mossy architrave is here!
I discern thee, fashioning spirit!
On the stone thou hast impress'd thy seal.
WOMAN.
Onward, stranger!
WANDERER.
Over an inscription am I treading!
'Tis effaced!
Ye are seen no longer, Words so deeply graven, Who your master's true devotion Should have shown to thousand grandsons!
WOMAN.
At these stones, why Start'st thou, stranger?
Many stones are lying yonder Round my cottage.
WANDERER.
Yonder?
WOMAN.
Through the thicket, Turning to the left, Here!
WANDERER.
Ye Muses and ye Graces!
WOMAN.
This, then, is my cottage.
WANDERER.
'Tis a ruin'd temple!
WOMAN.
Just below it, see, Springs the fountain Whence I drink.
WANDERER.
Thou dost hover O'er thy grave, all glowing, Genius! while upon thee Hath thy master-piece Fallen crumbling, Thou Immortal One!
WOMAN.
Stay, a cup I'll fetch thee Whence to drink.
WANDERER.
Ivy circles thy slender Form so graceful and godlike.
How ye rise on high From the ruins, Column-pair And thou, their lonely sister yonder,--How thou, Dusky moss upon thy sacred head,--Lookest down in mournful majesty On thy brethren's figures Lying scatter'd At thy feet!
In the shadow of the bramble Earth and rubbish veil them, Lofty grass is waving o'er them Is it thus thou, Nature, prizest Thy great masterpiece's masterpiece?
Carelessly destroyest thou Thine own sanctuary, Sowing thistles there?
WOMAN.
How the infant sleeps!
Wilt thou rest thee in the cottage, Stranger? Wouldst thou rather In the open air still linger?
Now 'tis cool! take thou the child While I go and draw some water.
Sleep on, darling! sleep!
WANDERER.
Sweet is thy repose!
How, with heaven-born health imbued, Peacefully he slumbers!
Oh thou, born among the ruins Spread by great antiquity, On thee rest her spirit!
He whom it encircles Will, in godlike consciousness, Ev'ry day enjoy.
Full, of germ, unfold, As the smiling springtime's Fairest charm, Outshining all thy fellows!
And when the blossom's husk is faded, May the full fruit shoot forth From out thy breast, And ripen in the sunshine!
WOMAN.
God bless him!--Is he sleeping still?
To the fresh draught I nought can add, Saving a crust of bread for thee to eat.
WANDERER.
I thank thee well.
How fair the verdure all around!
How green!
WOMAN.
My husband soon Will home return From labour.Tarry, tarry, man, And with us eat our evening meal.
WANDERER.
Is't here ye dwell?
WOMAN.
Yonder, within those walls we live.
My father 'twas who built the cottage Of tiles and stones from out the ruins.
'Tis here we dwell.
He gave me to a husbandman, And in our arms expired.--Hast thou been sleeping, dearest heart How lively, and how full of play!
Sweet rogue!
WANDERER.
Nature, thou ever budding one, Thou formest each for life's enjoyments, And, like a mother, all thy children dear, Blessest with that sweet heritage,--a home The swallow builds the cornice round, Unconscious of the beauties She plasters up.
The caterpillar spins around the bough, To make her brood a winter house;And thou dost patch, between antiquity's Most glorious relics, For thy mean use, Oh man, a humble cot,--Enjoyest e'en mid tombs!--Farewell, thou happy woman!
WOMAN.
Thou wilt not stay, then?
WANDERER.
May God preserve thee, And bless thy boy!
WOMAN.
A happy journey!
WANDERER.
Whither conducts the path Across yon hill?
WOMAN.
To Cuma.
WANDERER.
How far from hence?
WOMAN.
'Tis full three miles.
WANDERER.
Farewell!
Oh Nature, guide me on my way!
The wandering stranger guide, Who o'er the tombs Of holy bygone times Is passing, To a kind sheltering place, From North winds safe, And where a poplar grove Shuts out the noontide ray!
And when I come Home to my cot At evening, Illumined by the setting sun, Let me embrace a wife like this, Her infant in her arms!
1772.
Compare with the beautiful description contained in the subsequent lines, an account of a ruined temple of Ceres, given by Chamberlayne in his Pharonnida (published in 1659)"....With mournful majesiy A heap of solitary ruins lie, Half sepulchred in dust, the bankrupt heir To prodigal antiquity...."
LOVE AS A LANDSCAPE PAINTER.
ON a rocky peak once sat I early, Gazing on the mist with eyes unmoving;Stretch'd out like a pall of greyish texture, All things round, and all above it cover'd.
Suddenly a boy appear'd beside me, Saying "Friend, what meanest thou by gazing On the vacant pall with such composure?
Hast thou lost for evermore all pleasure Both in painting cunningly, and forming?"On the child I gazed, and thought in secret:
"Would the boy pretend to be a master?"
"Wouldst thou be for ever dull and idle,"Said the boy, "no wisdom thou'lt attain to;See, I'll straightway paint for thee a figure,--How to paint a beauteous figure, show thee."And he then extended his fore-finger,--(Ruddy was it as a youthful rosebud)
Tow'rd the broad and far outstretching carpet, And began to draw there with his finger.
First on high a radiant sun he painted, Which upon mine eyes with splendour glisten'd, And he made the clouds with golden border, Through the clouds he let the sunbeams enter;Painted then the soft and feathery summits Of the fresh and quicken'd trees, behind them One by one with freedom drew the mountains;Underneath he left no lack of water, But the river painted so like Nature, That it seem'd to glitter in the sunbeams, That it seem'd against its banks to murmur.
Ah, there blossom'd flowers beside the river, And bright colours gleam'd upon the meadow, Gold, and green, and purple, and enamell'd, All like carbuncles and emeralds seeming!
Bright and clear he added then the heavens, And the blue-tinged mountains far and farther, So that I, as though newborn, enraptured Gazed on, now the painter, now the picture.
