Arbiter, such as England seldom saw.
(Mute silence list'ning, and each dubious plea,
Taken by reason to thy firm decree)
Statesman and sage—a better, I will lend
A higher title still—the generous friend.
The summer sun is set—dark autumn shrouds
His dripping pinions in the southern clouds.
Thro' the pale woods the showers of foliage sweep,
And the rough surge is whitening all the deep.
Now round the social fire, and steaming urn,
O'er fragrant cups the studious lamp we burn;
Or dream of days (ah! why should fate deny!)
Long days beneath Ausonia's golden sky.
On Mincio's banks, at shut of evening hours,
The bee is sleeping in his ark of flowers:
Past are the Julian hills—and lo! the plain
Spreading by soft Adeste's green domain.
Now with the shepherd on Soracte's brow,
Gazing the marble city; now below,
Where Tiber's pale and silent waters flow.
With nicest taste our evening banquet glows,
From the rich flask old Gascon's vintage flows.
And though the stars are set, we still prolong
The cheerful converse and instructive song;
With many a tale the friendly feast refine,
And jest that sparkles in the flowing wine.
Yet ours to scorn the foul insatiate stain
Insidious Circe, and her siren train.
Chaste are the guests the timid muses bring,
And chaste as crystal dews, Apollo's spring.
Page:The Poetical Works of Thomas Parnell (1833).djvu/29
DEDICATORY EPISTLE.
xiii
