"Compatriot, Friend, remote are Garry's hills, 550 The streams far distant of your native glen; Yet is their form and image here expressed With brotherly resemblance.[347] Turn your steps Wherever fancy leads; by day, by night, Are various engines working, not the same 555 As those with[348] which your soul in youth was moved, But by the great Artificer endowed[349] With no inferior power. You dwell alone; You walk, you live, you speculate alone; Yet doth remembrance, like a sovereign prince, 560 For you a stately gallery maintain Of gay or tragic pictures. You have seen, Have acted, suffered, travelled far, observed With no incurious eye; and books are yours, Within whose silent chambers treasure lies 565 Preserved from age to age; more precious far Than that accumulated store of gold And orient gems, which, for a day of need, The Sultan hides deep in[350] ancestral tombs. These hoards of truth you can unlock at will: 570 And music waits upon your skilful touch, Sounds which the wandering shepherd from these heights Hears, and forgets his purpose;--furnished thus, How can you droop, if willing to be upraised?[351] "A piteous lot it were to flee from Man-- 575 Yet not rejoice in Nature. He, whose hours Are by domestic pleasures uncaressed And unenlivened; who exists whole years Apart from benefits received or done 'Mid the transactions of the bustling crowd; 580 Who neither hears, nor feels a wish to hear, Of the world's interests--such a one hath need Of a quick fancy and an active heart, That, for the day's consumption, books may yield Food not unwholesome; earth and air correct 585 His morbid humour, with delight supplied Or solace, varying as the seasons change.[352] --Truth has her pleasure-grounds, her haunts of ease And easy contemplation; gay parterres, And labyrinthine walks, her sunny glades 590 And shady groves in studied contrast--each, For recreation, leading into each:[353] These may he range, if willing to partake Their soft indulgences, and in due time May issue thence, recruited for the tasks 595 And course of service Truth requires from those Who tend her altars, wait upon her throne, And guard her fortresses. Who thinks, and feels, And recognises ever and anon The breeze of nature stirring in his soul, 600 Why need such man go desperately astray, And nurse 'the dreadful appetite of death?' If tired with systems, each in its degree Substantial, and all crumbling in their turn, Let him build systems of his own, and smile 605 At the fond work, demolished with a touch;