Or where the Hermit hangs the straw-clad cell,[1]
Emerging gently from the leafy dell;
By Fancy planned; as once the' inventive maid
Met the hoar sage amid the secret shade;
Romantic spot! from whence in prospect lies
Whate'er of landscape charms our feasting eyes;
The pointed spire, the hall, the pasture-plain.
The russet fallow, or the golden grain,
The breezy lake that sheds a gleaming light,
Till all the fading picture fail the sight.
Each to his task; all different ways retire;
Cull the dry stick; call forth the seeds of fire;
Deep fix the kettle's props, a forky row,
Or give with fanning hat the breeze to blow.
Whence is this taste, the furnish'd hall forgot,
To feast in gardens, or the unhandy grot?
Or novelty with some new charms surprises,
Or from our very shifts some joy arises.
Hark, while below the village-bells ring round,
Echo, sweet nymph, returns the soften'd sound;
But if gusts rise, the rushing forests roar,
Like the tide tumbling on the pebbly shore.
Adown the vale, in lone, sequester'd nook,
Where skirting woods embrown the dimpling brook,
The ruin'd convent lies; here wont to dwell
The lazy canon midst his cloister'd cell;[2]
While papal darkness brooded o'er the land,
Ere Reformation made her glorious stand:
Still oft at eve belated shepherd-swains
See the cowl'd spectre skim the folded plains.
To the high Temple would my stranger go, [3]
- ↑ A grotesque building, contrived by a young gentleman, who used on occasion to appear in the character of a hermit.
- ↑ The ruins of a priory, founded by Peter de Rupibus, Bishop of Winchester.
- ↑ The remains of a preceptory of the Knights Templars; at least it was a farm dependent upon some preceptory of that order. I find it was a preceptory called the Preceptory of Sudington; now called Southington.
