. Poems . screen unfolds its many-coloured clock still points its moral to the faithful monitor twas heaven to soft it spoke a promised pleasure near;And has its sober hand, its simple chime,Forgot to trace the feathered feet of Time ?That massive beam, with curious carvings the caged linnet soothed my pensive thought;Those muskets, cased with venerable rust;Those once-loved forms, still breathing thro their , from the frame in mould gigantic to life—all whisper of the Past! c 10 As thro the gardens desert paths I
. Poems . screen unfolds its many-coloured clock still points its moral to the faithful monitor twas heaven to soft it spoke a promised pleasure near;And has its sober hand, its simple chime,Forgot to trace the feathered feet of Time ?That massive beam, with curious carvings the caged linnet soothed my pensive thought;Those muskets, cased with venerable rust;Those once-loved forms, still breathing thro their , from the frame in mould gigantic to life—all whisper of the Past! c 10 As thro the gardens desert paths I rove,What fond illusions swarm in every grove!How oft, when purple evening tinged the west,We watched the emmet to her grainy nest;Welcomed the wild-bee home on weary wing,Laden with sweets, the choicest of the spring!How oft inscribed, with Friendships votive rhyme,The bark now silvered by the touch of Time;Soared in the swing, half pleased and half sister elms that waved their summer-shade;. 11 Or strewed with crumbs yon root-inwoven seat,To lure the redbreast from his lone retreat! Childhoods loved group revisits every scene;The tangled wood-walk, and the tufted green!Indulgent Memory wakes, and lo, they live!Clothed with far softer hues than Light can first, best friend that Heaven assigns below,To sooth and sweeten all the cares we know;Whose glad suggestions still each vain alarm,When nature fades, and life forgets to charm;Thee would the Muse invoke!—to thee belongThe sages precept, and the poets softened views thy magic glass oer the landscape Times meek twilight steals!As when in ocean sinks the orb of on the wave reflected lustres play;Thy tempered gleams of happiness resignedGlance on the darkened mirror of the mind. The Schools lone porch, with reverend mosses grey,Just tells the pensive pilgrim where it is the bell that rung at peep of my truant-feet across the lawn:Unheard the shout
Size: 1871px × 1335px
Photo credit: © Reading Room 2020 / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookauthorrogerssamue, bookcentury1800, bookidpoemssam00rogerich
