Those pangs of fond regret, that pierce my breast, When recollection mournfully surveys Unfinish'd products of thy studious days. Ah what a host of filial fair designs: Where, springing from the heart, the fancy shines, Thy enterprising mind had here bestow'd, To honour Felpham as thy sire's abode! All to thy mental eyes were present here; The scene, we join'd to deck, all yet endear, Tho' hardly embrios of plastic grace, Many yet want their features, and their place. These vacant circlets, that still court mine eye, Can I survey, without a bursting sigh, When fond remembrance tells me that from these Thy filial hand, tho' robb'd of strength and ease, Yet inly conscious of ingenious power, Resolv'd, in labour's first reviving hour, To fashion portraits claiming just regard, The Tuscan sculptor! and the Grecian bard! Whom 'twas thy hope in marble to create As honour'd guardians of thy poet's gate; There is no spot within this Villa's bound, E'en to the Turret's topmost airy round, Which thy kind fancy, that no ills could check. With sweet ideal projects fail'd to deck: Eager to fix around, below, above, Proofs of thy skill, and monuments of love! Thy gay activity how passing sweet, Ere this arising structure was complete! When 'twas our joy its scaffolds to ascend, And mark how bright its varied views extend; To search how far the glass-assisted eye May scenes of splendor, and of peace, descry! The first, where, blazing in the gorgeous west, The sun delights on Vecta's hills to rest, And gild those fleets, that, when they cease to roam; Come fraught with glory to her favorite home; The second, where, in softer northern light, Eartham, lov'd little hill, allures the sight, And towering woods, that crown the loftier Nore, Salute our seamen, as they near the shore! Ye scenes, that live in memory's regard. Whose quiet beauty charm'd your pensive bard! In hopes his eye might long delight to trace, Tho' distant, visible, your rural grace; In hopes of tender love, not idle pride! He rear'd his turret by the ocean's side, Lofty, tho' little! that his sight might still Enjoy sweet intercourse with Eartham-hill; Where, while his heart with pure ambition glow'd, The filial artist plann'd his own abode; And by a telegraph, his skill design'd, Endearing mark of his inventive mind, He meant to hold, as mutual wants require, Constant communion with his absent sire: Fair purpose! furnishing much kind employ, And oft a subject of ideal joy To hearts, forbid by mercy to foresee, How soon the heaven-taught youth, by heaven's decree Must leave the favorite hill, that charm'd his eyes, In early transit to serener skies! Angel! yet visible to mental sight! Still let me, pensive in my Turret's height, Whose view of heaven unbroken, unconfin'd Fixes the lifted eye and fills the mind; Let love, ascending from earth's dark abyss, Still commune with thee in thy scene of bliss! Sole meditation on thy heavenly worth. Transcending all the social joys of earth;