14
LEWESDON HILL.
The labouring and way-worn feet along,
And make their toil less toilsome. Half way up
Or nearer to the top, behold a cot,
O'er which the branchy trees, those sycamores,
Wave gently: at their roots a rustic bench
Invites to short refreshment, and to taste
What grateful beverage the house may yield
After fatigue, or dusty heat; thence call'd
The Traveller's Rest. Welcome, embower'd seat,
Friendly repose to the slow passenger
Ascending, ere he takes his sultry way
Along th' interminable road, stretch'd out
Over th' unshelter'd down; or when at last
He has that hard and solitary path
Measured by painful steps. And blest are they,
Who in life's toilsome journey may make pause
After a march of glory: yet not such
As rise in causeless war, troubling the world
By their mad quarrel, and in fields of blood
Hail'd victors, thence renown'd, and call'd on earth
Kings, heroes, demi-gods, but in high Heaven
Theives, ruffians, murderers; these find no repose:
And make their toil less toilsome. Half way up
Or nearer to the top, behold a cot,
O'er which the branchy trees, those sycamores,
Wave gently: at their roots a rustic bench
Invites to short refreshment, and to taste
What grateful beverage the house may yield
After fatigue, or dusty heat; thence call'd
The Traveller's Rest. Welcome, embower'd seat,
Friendly repose to the slow passenger
Ascending, ere he takes his sultry way
Along th' interminable road, stretch'd out
Over th' unshelter'd down; or when at last
He has that hard and solitary path
Measured by painful steps. And blest are they,
Who in life's toilsome journey may make pause
After a march of glory: yet not such
As rise in causeless war, troubling the world
By their mad quarrel, and in fields of blood
Hail'd victors, thence renown'd, and call'd on earth
Kings, heroes, demi-gods, but in high Heaven
Theives, ruffians, murderers; these find no repose:
Thee
