To yonder narrow vale, whose high-sloped sides Are hung with airy oaks, and umbrage deep -- Where through thick shades the lulling waters creep: And no vile noise the musing mind derides, But silence with calm solitude abides -- Temple with joy retired, that he might keep A course of quiet days, and nightly sleep Beneath the covering wings of heavenly guides -- Virtue and peace! Here he in sweet repose Sigh'd his last breath! Here Swift, in youth reclined, Pass'd his smooth days. -- Oh, had he longer chose Retreats so pure, perchance his nicer mind, That the world's wildering follies and its woes To madness shook, had ne'er with sorrows pined! |