Moral Pieces, in Prose and Verse/On Visiting the Deserted Garden of Friends in the Country
ON VISITING THE DESERTED GARDEN OF FRIENDS IN THE COUNTRY.
THE morning smiles on these deserted walls,
But no bright lustre cheers the lonely halls,
Strong bolts and bars exclude th' accustom'd guest,
By friendship lur'd, by constant kindness blest,
Who came with gladness, pleas'd, prolonged his stay,
Reluctant rose, and grateful went his way.
Fair o'er those winding paths the sun-beam plays,
But no light footstep o'er their verdure strays,
Still the strong pillars hold the mounting vines,
Round the white arch the clasping tendril twines,
The garden smiles, the roses breathe perfume,*[1]
The myrtle blows, but who shall watch their bloom?
The purple plumbs, the untrodden alley strew,
The peach lies blushing in the nightly dew,
The fallen apple, in its rind of gold,
Shines, softens, and returns to kindred mould,
Save what the roving boys, in truant hour,
Snatch with rash hand, with eager haste devour,
And gazing sadly on the loaded tree,
Grieve that such sweets should e'er untasted be.
Clos'd are those blinds thro' which I us'd to trace
The smiling features of * * * * * *'s face,
And when no more I hear her accents say,
"Come in, my friend, O yet, a moment stay,"
No sound is heard amid the silent view,
Save the lone kitten's long, despairing mew,
My lay responsive joins the dismal strain,
As sad and slow, I wander back again.
Yet though your loss, dear friends, I daily mourn,
And selfish sorrow sometimes says, "return,"
Still the rash word mature reflection blames,
And back the quick, unfinish'd sentence claims;
No! stay, and view those scenes with beauty fraught,
Joy in the charms your tasteful care has wrought,
Rest in the shades of innocence and ease,
Catch the pure spirit of the mountain breeze,
And taste those rapturous hours, not often known,
Which nature sheds on virtue's friends alone.
But when drear Autumn's stern and nipping air
Shall strip the heights of Montevideo bare,
And when brown and shapeless foliage flies,
Smit by the fury of the rending skies,
Before the hoary frost, and snowy flake,
Shall bind the billow of the gentle lake,
Oh, haste, the joys of other climes to prove,
Haste, to the genial warmth of social love;
Draw the strong bolts, that bar the entrance free,
To the fair dome of hospitality,
Cheer with reviving smiles a pensive train,
And make the eye of friendship bright again.
- ↑ * The monthly roses then in bloom.