ELEGY VI. WRITTEN AMONG THE RUINS OF A NOBLEMAN's SEAT IN CORNWALL. BY MR. MOORE. AMIDST these venerable drear remains That prompts me to indulge the plaintive lay. Here liv'd Eugenio, born of noble race, Aloft his mansion rose; around were seen Extensive gardens deck'd with every grace, Ponds, walks, and groves through all the seasons green. Ah, where is now its boasted beauty fled! Of splendid rooms no traces here are found: How are these tottering walls by time defac'd ! Shagg'd with vile thorn, with twining ivy bound, Once hung with tapestry, with paintings grac'd! In antient times, perhaps, where now I tread, Licentious Riot crown'd the midnight bowl, Her dainties Luxury pour'd, and Beauty spread Her artful snares to captivate the soul. Or here, attended by a chosen train Of innocent delight, true Grandeur dwelt, Around now Solitude unjoyous reigns, No gay-gilt chariot hither marks the way, No more with cheerful hopes the needy swains At the once-bounteous gate their visits pay. Where too is now the garden's beauty fled, Dead are the trees that once with nicest care Arrang'd, from opening blossoms shed perfume, And thick with fruitage stood, the pendent pear, The ruddy-color'd peach, and glossy plumb. Extinct is all the family of flowers: In vain I seek the arbor's cool retreat, Where antient friends in converse pass'd the hours, Defended from the raging dog-star's heat. Along the terrace-walks are straggling seen The groves, where Pleasure walk'd her rounds, decay, In yonder wide-extended vale below, Where osiers spread, a pond capacious stood; From far, by art the stream was taught to flow, Whose liquid stores, supplied th' unfailing flood. Oft here the silent angler took his place, But perish'd now are all the numerous race, Here then, ye Great! behold th' uncertain state And flourish but the glory of an hour. Virtue alone no dissolution fears, Still permanent, tho' ages roll away; Who builds on her immortal basis, rears A superstructure time can ne'er decay. THE peaceful Evening breathes her balmy store, The playful school-boys wanton o'er the green; Where spreading poplars shade the cottage-door, The villagers in rustic joy convene. Amid the secret windings of the wood, The river murmurs, and the breathing gale |