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ON VISITING THE DESERTED GARDEN OF FRIENDS IN THE COUNTRY.
THE morning smiles on these deserted walls,
But no bright lustre cheers the lonely halls,
Strong bolts and bars exclude th' accustom'd guest,
By friendship lur'd, by constant kindness blest,
Who came with gladness, pleas'd, prolonged his stay,
Reluctant rose, and grateful went his way.
Fair o'er those winding paths the sun-beam plays,
But no light footstep o'er their verdure strays,
Still the strong pillars hold the mounting vines,
Round the white arch the clasping tendril twines,
The garden smiles, the roses breathe perfume,*[1]
The myrtle blows, but who shall watch their bloom?
The purple plumbs, the untrodden alley strew,
The peach lies blushing in the nightly dew,
The fallen apple, in its rind of gold,
Shines, softens, and returns to kindred mould,
- ↑ * The monthly roses then in bloom.
