FLORIO had gain’d a rude and rocky seat, When lo, the Genius of this still retreat! Fair was her form—but who can hope to trace The pensive softness of her angel-face? Can VIRGIL’S verse, can RAPHAEL’S touch impart Those finer features of the feeling heart, Those tend’rer tints that shun the careless eye, And in the world’s contagious climate die? She left the cave, nor mark’d the stranger there; Her pastoral beauty, and her artless air Had breath’d a soft enchantment o’er his soul! In every nerve he felt her blest controul! What pure and white-wing’d agents of the sky, Who rule the springs of sacred sympathy, Inform congenial spirits when they meet? Sweet is their office, as their natures sweet! FLORIO, with fearful joy, pursued the maid, Till thro’ a vista’s moonlight-checquer’d shade, Where the bat circled, and the rooks repos’d, (Their wars suspended, and their councils clos’d) An antique mansion burst in awful state, A rich vine clustering round the Gothic gate. Nor paus’d he there. The master of the scene Saw his light step imprint the dewy green; And, slow-advancing, hail’d him as his guest, Won by the honest warmth his looks express’d, He wore the rustic manners of a ’Squire; Age had not quench’d one spark of manly fire; But giant Gout had bound him in her chain, And his heart panted for the chase in vain. Yet here Remembrance, sweetly-soothing power! Wing’d with delight Confinement’s lingering hour. The fox’s brush still emulous to wear, He scour’d the county in his elbow-chair; And, with view-halloo, rous’d the dreaming hound, That rung, by starts, his deep-ton’d music round. Long by the paddock’s humble pale confin’d, His aged hunters cours’d the viewless wind: And each, with glowing energy pourtray’d, The far-fam’d triumphs of the field display’d: Usurp’d the canvas of the crowded hall, And chas’d a line of heroes from the wall. There slept the horn each jocund echo knew. And many a smile and many a story drew! High o’er the hearth his forest-trophies hung, And their fantastic branches wildly flung. How would he dwell on the vast antlers there! These dash’d the wave, those fann’d the mountain-air. All, as they frown’d, unwritten records bore, Of gallant feats and festivals of yore.