Page:The Poetical Works of Thomas Parnell (1833).djvu/18

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DEDICATORY EPISTLE.

Dreaming with [[author:Plato|]],———was it but a dream? $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
Or him who, wandering by Cephisus' stream,
Gave to the listening vales the deep Socratic theme.

Say what sweet voice the wearied heart shall cheer,
Win the glad smile, or wake affection's tear;
What form shall glide within the half-clos'd door,
What small light footstep press the silent floor:
What ivory arm around his neck shall twine,
And say, or seem to say,———this hour is mine!
What voice shall cry,———away, my love, away! $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
The nightingale is now on every spray,
Come, hear the enchanter's song, and welcome in the May!
Ah! say why here do art and nature pour
Their charms conjoin'd in many a varied store;
Why bloom, by Flora's hand adorn'd, my bowers,
Why dance my fountains,and why laugh my flowers?
Along each velvet lawn and opening glade
Why spreads the cedar his immortal shade?
The brooks that warble, and the hills that shine,
Charm every heart, and please each eye but mine.

Though gleams the page by jealous time unroll'd,
Where the long shelves expand their rows of gold,
Tho' their rich leaves the pictur'd missals spread $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
With knightly tale, and gothic legend fed;
Woe to the wight who once those witching tales has read!