O, nursed at happy distance from the cares 75 Of a too-anxious world, mild pastoral Muse! That, to the sparkling crown Urania wears, And to her sister Clio's laurel wreath,[CL] Prefer'st a garland culled from purple heath, Or blooming thicket moist with morning dews; 80 Was such bright Spectacle vouchsafed to me? And was it granted to the simple ear Of thy contented Votary Such melody to hear! _Him_ rather suits it, side by side with thee, 85 Wrapped in a fit of[240] pleasing indolence, While thy tired lute hangs on the hawthorn-tree, To lie and listen--till o'er-drowsèd sense Sinks,[241] hardly conscious of the influence-- To the soft murmur of the vagrant Bee. 90 --A slender sound! yet hoary Time Doth to the _Soul_ exalt it with the chime Of all his years;--a company Of ages coming, ages gone; (Nations from before them sweeping, 95 Regions in destruction steeping,) But every awful note in unison[242] With that faint utterance, which tells Of treasure sucked from buds and bells, For the pure keeping of those waxen cells;[243] 100 Where She--a statist prudent to confer Upon the common[244] weal; a warrior bold, Radiant all over with unburnished gold, And armed with living spear for mortal fight;[245] A cunning forager 105 That spreads no waste; a social builder; one In whom all busy offices unite With all fine functions that afford delight-- Safe through the winter[246] storm in quiet dwells! V