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Upon the side
Of that green Slope, the outlet of the Vale,
Lingering behind my Comrades, thus I breathed
A parting tribute to a spot that seemed
Like the fixed centre of a troubled World.
And now, pursuing leisurely my way,
How vain, thought I, it is by change of place
To seek that comfort which the mind denies;
Yet trial and temptation oft are shunned
Wisely; and by such tenor do we hold
Frail Life's possessions, that even they whose fate
Yields no peculiar reason of complaint
Might, by the promise that is here, be won
To steal from active duties, and embrace
Obscurity, and calm forgetfulness.
—Knowledge, methinks, in these disordered times,
Should be allowed a privilege to have
Her Anchorites, like Piety of old;
Men, who, from faction sacred, and unstained
By war, might, if so minded, turn aside
Uncensured, and subsist, a scattered few
Living to God and Nature, and content
With that communion. Consecrated be
