“THE MASSY WAYS, CARRIED ACROSS THESE HEIGHTS”

The massy Ways, carried across these heights

By Roman perseverance,are destroyed,

Or hidden under ground, like sleeping worms.

How venture then to hope that Time will spare

This humble Walk? Yet on the mountain's side

A POET'S hand first shaped it; and the steps

Of that same Bard — repeated to and fro

At morn, at noon,and under moonlight skies

Through the vicissitudes of many a year —

Forbade the weeds to creep o'er its grey line.

No longer, scattering to the heedless winds

The vocal raptures of fresh poesy,

Shall he frequent these precincts; locked no more

In earnest converse with beloved Friends,

Here will he gather stores of ready bliss,

As from the beds and borders of a garden

Choice flowers are gathered! But, if Power may spring

Out of a farewell yearning — favoured more

Than kindred wishes mated suitably

With vain regrets — the Exile would consign

This Walk, his loved possession, to the care

Of those pure Minds that reverence the Muse.