Musings On A Landscape Of Gaspar Poussin.

Poussin! most pleasantly thy pictur'd scenes     Beguile the lonely hour; I sit and gaze     With lingering eye, till charmed FANCY makes     The lovely landscape live, and the rapt soul     From the foul haunts of herded humankind     Flies far away with spirit speed, and tastes     The untainted air, that with the lively hue     Of health and happiness illumes the cheek     Of mountain LIBERTY. My willing soul     All eager follows on thy faery flights     FANCY! best friend; whose blessed witcheries     With loveliest prospects cheat the traveller     O'er the long wearying desart of the world.     Nor dost thou FANCY with such magic mock     My heart, as, demon-born, old Merlin knew,     Or Alquif, or Zarzafiel's sister sage,     Whose vengeful anguish for so many a year     Held in the jacinth sepulchre entranced     Lisvart and Perion, pride of chivalry.     Friend of my lonely hours! thou leadest me     To such calm joys as Nature wise and good     Proffers in vain to all her wretched sons;     Her wretched sons who pine with want amid     The abundant earth, and blindly bow them down     Before the Moloch shrines of WEALTH and POWER,     AUTHORS of EVIL. Oh it is most sweet     To medicine with thy wiles the wearied heart,     Sick of reality. The little pile     That tops the summit of that craggy hill     Shall be my dwelling; craggy is the hill     And steep, yet thro' yon hazels upward leads     The easy path, along whose winding way     Now close embowered I hear the unseen stream     Dash down, anon behold its sparkling foam     Gleam thro' the thicket; and ascending on     Now pause me to survey the goodly vale     That opens on my vision. Half way up     Pleasant it were upon some broad smooth rock     To sit and sun me, and look down below     And watch the goatherd down that high-bank'd path     Urging his flock grotesque; and bidding now     His lean rough dog from some near cliff to drive     The straggler; while his barkings loud and quick     Amid their trembling bleat arising oft,     Fainter and fainter from the hollow road     Send their far echoes, till the waterfall,     Hoarse bursting from the cavern'd cliff beneath,     Their dying murmurs drown. A little yet     Onward, and I have gain'd the upmost height.     Fair spreads the vale below: I see the stream     Stream radiant on beneath the noontide sky.     Where the town-spires behind the castle towers     Rise graceful; brown the mountain in its shade,     Whose circling grandeur, part by mists conceal'd,     Part with white rocks resplendant in the sun,     Should bound mine eyes; aye and my wishes too,     For I would have no hope or fear beyond.     The empty turmoil of the worthless world,     Its vanities and vices would not vex     My quiet heart. The traveller, who beheld     The low tower of the little pile, might deem     It were the house of GOD: nor would he err     So deeming, for that home would be the home     Of PEACE and LOVE, and they would hallow it     To HIM. Oh life of blessedness! to reap     The fruit of honorable toil, and bound     Our wishes with our wants! delightful Thoughts     That sooth the solitude of maniac HOPE,     Ye leave her to reality awak'd,     Like the poor captive, from some fleeting dream     Of friends and liberty and home restor'd,     Startled, and listening as the midnight storm     Beats hard and heavy thro' his dungeon bars.