GASPAR POUSSIN.

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.