Seems motionless, yet ever glides away! 
The shadowy walls record, with Attic art,
The strength and beauty that its waves impart. 
Here THETIS, bending, with a mother’s fears
Dips her dear boy, whose pride restrains his tears. 
There, VENUS, rising, shrinks with sweet surprize,
As her fair self reflected seems to rise! 
   Far from the joyless glare, the maddening strife,
And all ‘the dull impertinence of life,’
These eyelids open to the rising ray,
And close, when Nature bids, at close of day. 
Here, at the dawn, the kindling landscape glows;
There noon-day levees call from faint repose. 
Here the flush’d wave flings back the parting light;
There glimmering lamps anticipate the night. 
When from his classic dreams the student steals, [Footnote 3]
Amid the buzz of crowds, the whirl of wheels,
To muse unnotic’d—­while around him press
The meteor-forms of equipage and dress;
Alone, in wonder lost, he seems to stand
A very stranger in his native land! 
And (tho’ perchance of current coin possest,
And modern phrase by living lips exprest)
Like those blest Youths, forgive the fabling page, [k]
Whose blameless lives deceiv’d a twilight age,
Spent in sweet slumbers; till the miner’s spade
Unclos’d the cavern, and the morning play’d. 
Ah, what their strange surprize, their wild delight! 
New arts of life, new manners meet their sight! 
In a new world they wake, as from the dead;
Yet doubt the trance dissolv’d, the vision fled! 
   O come, and, rich in intellectual wealth,
Blend thought with exercise, with knowledge health! 
Long, in this shelter’d scene of letter’d talk,
With sober step repeat the pensive walk;
Nor scorn, when graver triflings fail to please,
The cheap amusements of a mind at ease;
Here every care in sweet oblivion cast,
And many an idle hour—­not idly pass’d. 
   No tuneful echoes, ambush’d at my gate,
Catch the blest accents of the wise and great. [l]
Vain of its various page, no Album breathes
The sigh that Friendship or the Muse bequeaths. 
Yet some good Genii o’er my hearth preside,
Oft the far friend, with secret spell, to guide;
And there I trace, when the grey evening lours,
A silent chronicle of happier hours! 
   When Christmas revels in a world of snow,
And bids her berries blush, her carols flow;
His spangling shower when Frost the wizard flings;
Or, borne in ether blue, on viewless wings,
O’er the white pane his silvery foliage weaves,
And gems with icicles the sheltering eaves;
—­Thy muffled friend his nectarine-wall pursues,
What time the sun the yellow crocus wooes,
Screen’d from the arrowy North; and duly hies [Foonote 4]
To meet the morning-rumour as it flies;
To range the murmuring market-place, and view
The motley groups that faithful TENIERS drew. 
   When Spring bursts forth in blossoms