O ASK not me of Blenheim's marble halls, Her towering column and triumphal gate; With vacant glance I viewed the trophied walls, The wide unsocial haunt of sullen state! Boast not to me the wooded green domain, Formed by the labourer's hand, the artist's rule; Joyless I saw, in yon extended plain, A cultured desert and a stagnant pool. Be mine the cheerful view of village green With ruddy children scattered far and near, The babbling brook thro' willow hedgerows seen That turns the mill with current cold and clear! At scenes like these the feeling breast may warm, And tears of young philanthropy may start, The poet's mind new dreams of beauty form, And fancy own the promptings of the heart. But ask not me of Blenheim's marble halls; Tho' Marlborough's triumphs grace her sculptured gate, With careless glance I viewed her trophied walls, Chilled by the frown of dull unsocial state. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...POOR MAILIE'S ELEGY by ROBERT BURNS DON JUAN: CANTO 1 by GEORGE GORDON BYRON MONODY ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HON. R.B. SHERIDAN by GEORGE GORDON BYRON CONTENTMENT, AFTER THE MANNER OF HORACE by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY EPIGRAM: A LAME BEGGAR by JOHN DONNE AFAR IN THE DESERT by THOMAS PRINGLE TO THE MAN-OF-WAR-BIRD by WALT WHITMAN |