Page:The Poetical Works of Thomas Parnell (1833).djvu/39

To Spenser's song, or Shakespeare's bolder page,
Mark each connecting chain, each deep design,
And pour fresh lustre on the glowing line;
With just remark refine the poet's lays,
And give the critic's art a higher praise.
Touch'd by no meaner hand, so pleas'd I see
The wreath that Gifford wore, descend to thee.

Come then, alike in converse grave or gay,
Speed the swift hours, and share the social day;
Leave the huge city's throng, the tumult loud,
Absolved of care, and sacred from the crowd.
(Thy hand the Muses' various gifts inspire
To dip the pencil, or to wake the lyre;)
Aid me to wind my banks, direct my shade,
Slope the green lawn, or roll the broad cascade,
Collect the flowers the cultur'd garden yields,
And glean the soft instruction of the fields;
Paint with new light the mountain's florid brow,
And wake the genius of the flood below.
With calm desires and gentlest wishes blest,
Here mayst thou choose of nature's gifts the best.
Thine is the laurel shade — the chesnut bower,
When summer glows beneath the noontide hour.
The vernal walk is thine — the soften'd scene,
Sweet evening lights, and golden skies serene;
The fresh airs moving o'er the mottled sea,
And Hesper's fragrant lamp, that burns for thee.

Calm leisure waits thee here — nor thou disdain