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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=427507" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Enthusiast, or the Lover of Nature</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ye green-rob'd Dryads, oft' at dusky Eve<br>By wondering Shepherds seen, to Forests brown,<br>To unfrequented Meads, and pathless Wilds,<br>Lead me from Gardens deckt with Art's vain Pomps.<br>Can gilt Alcoves, can Marble-mimic Gods, <br>Parterres embroider'd, Obelisks, and Urns<br>Of high Relief; can the long, spreading Lake,<br>Or Vista lessening to the Sight; can Stow<br>With all her Attic Fanes, such Raptures raise,<br>As the Thrush-haunted Copse, where lightly leaps <br>The fearful Fawn the rustling Leaves along,<br>And the brisk Squirrel sports from Bough to Bough,<br>While from an hollow Oak the busy Bees<br>Hum drowsy Lullabies? The Bards of old,<br>Fair Nature's Friends, sought such Retreats, to charm <br>Sweet Echo with their Songs; oft' too they met,<br>In Summer Evenings, near sequester'd Bow'rs,<br>Or Mountain-Nymph, or Muse, and eager learnt<br>The moral Strains she taught to mend Mankind.<br>As to a secret Grot Ægeria stole <br>With Patriot Numa, and in silent Night<br>Whisper'd him sacred Laws, he list'ning sat<br>Rapt with her virtuous Voice, old Tyber leant<br>Attentive on his Urn, and husht his Waves.<br>Rich in her weeping Country's Spoils Versailles <br>May boast a thousand Fountains, that can cast<br>The tortur'd Waters to the distant Heav'ns;<br>Yet let me choose some Pine-topt Precipice<br>Abrupt and shaggy, whence a foamy Stream,<br>Like Anio, tumbling roars; or some bleak Heath, <br>Where straggling stand the mournful Juniper,<br>Or Yew-tree scath'd; while in clear Prospect round,<br>From the Grove's Bosom Spires emerge, and Smoak<br>In bluish Wreaths ascends, ripe Harvests wave,<br>Herds low, and Straw-rooft Cotts appear, and Streams <br>Beneath the Sun-beams twinkle -- The shrill Lark,<br>That wakes the Wood-man to his early Task,<br>Or love-sick Philomel, whose luscious Lays<br>Sooth lone Night-wanderers, the moaning Dove<br>Pitied by listening Milkmaid, far excell <br>The deep-mouth'd Viol, the Soul-lulling Lute,<br>And Battle-breathing Trumpet. Artful Sounds!<br>That please not like the Choristers of Air,<br>When first they hail th'Approach of laughing May.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Creative Titian, can thy vivid Strokes, <br>Or thine, O graceful Raphael, dare to vie<br>With the rich Tints that paint the breathing Mead?<br>The thousand-colour'd Tulip, Violet's Bell<br>Snow-clad and meek, the Vermil-tinctur'd Rose,<br>And golden Crocus? -- Yet with these the Maid, <br>Phillis or Phoebe, at a Feast or Wake,<br>Her jetty Locks enamels; fairer she,<br>In Innocence and home-spun Vestments drest,<br>Than if coerulean Sapphires at her Ears<br>Shone pendant, or a precious Diamond-Cross <br>Heav'd gently on her panting Bosom white.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yon' Shepherd idly stretcht on the rude Rock,<br>Listening to dashing Waves, and Sea-Mews Clang<br>High-hovering o'er his Head, who views beneath<br>The Dolphin dancing o'er the level Brine, <br>Feels more true Bliss than the proud Ammiral,<br>Amid his Vessels bright with burnish'd Gold<br>And silken Streamers, tho' his lordly Nod<br>Ten thousand War-worn Mariners revere.<br>And great Æneas gaz'd with more Delight<br>On the rough Mountain shagg'd with horrid Shades,<br>(Where Cloud-compelling Jove, as Fancy dream'd,<br>Descending shook his direful Ægis black)<br>Than if he enter'd the high Capitol<br>On golden Columns rear'd, a conquer'd World<br>Contributing to deck its stately Head:<br>More pleas'd he slept in poor Evander's Cott<br>On shaggy Skins, lull'd by sweet Nightingales,<br>Than if a Nero, in an Age refin'd,<br>Beneath a gorgeous Canopy had plac'd <br>His royal Guest, and bade his Minstrels sound<br>Soft slumb'rous Lydian Airs to sooth his Rest.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Happy the first of Men, ere yet confin'd<br>To smoaky Cities; who in sheltering Groves,<br>Warm Caves, and deep-sunk Vallies liv'd and lov'd,<br>By Cares unwounded; what the Sun and Showers,<br>And genial Earth untillag'd could produce,<br>They gather'd grateful, or the Acorn brown,<br>Or blushing Berry; by the liquid Lapse<br>Of murm'ring Waters call'd to slake their Thirst, <br>Or with fair Nymphs their Sun-brown Limbs to bathe;<br>With Nymphs who fondly clasp'd their fav'rite Youths,<br>Unaw'd by Shame, beneath the Beechen Shade,<br>Nor Wiles, nor artificial Coyness knew.<br>Then Doors and Walls were not; the melting Maid <br>Nor Frowns of Parents fear'd, nor Husband's Threats;<br>Nor had curs'd Gold their tender Hearts allur'd;<br>Then Beauty was not venal. Injur'd Love,<br>O whither, God of Raptures, art thou fled?<br>While Avarice waves his golden Wand around, <br>Abhorr'd Magician, and his costly Cup<br>Prepares with baneful Drugs, t'enchant the Souls<br>Of each low-thoughted Fair to wed for Gain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What tho' unknown to those primæval Sires,<br>The well-arch'd Dome, peopled with breathing Forms <br>By fair Italia's skilful Hand, unknown<br>The shapely Column, and the crumbling Busts<br>Of awful Ancestors in long Descent?<br>Yet why should Man mistaken deem it nobler<br>To dwell in Palaces, and high-rooft Halls, <br>Than in God's Forests, Architect supreme!<br>Say, is the Persian Carpet, than the Field's<br>Or Meadow's Mantle gay, more richly wov'n';<br>Or softer to the Votaries of Ease,<br>Than bladed Grass, perfum'd with dew-dropt Flow'rs? <br>O Taste corrupt! that Luxury and Pomp<br>In specious Names of polish'd Manners veil'd,<br>Should proudly banish Nature's simple Charms.<br>Tho' the fierce North oft smote with Iron Whip<br>Their shiv'ring Limbs, tho' oft the bristly Boar <br>Or hungry Lion 'woke them with their Howls,<br>And scar'd them from their Moss-grown Caves to rove,<br>Houseless and cold in dark, tempestuous Nights;<br>Yet were not Myriads in embattled Fields<br>Swept off at once, nor had the raving Seas <br>O'erwhelm'd the foundering Bark, and helpless Crew;<br>In vain the glassy Ocean smil'd to tempt<br>The jolly Sailor, unsuspecting Harm,<br>For Commerce was unknown. Then Want and Pine<br>Sunk to the Grave their fainting Limbs; but Us <br>Excess and endless Riot doom to die.<br>They cropt unweetingly, the poisonous Herb<br>But wiser we spontaneously provide<br>Rare powerful Roots, to quench Life's chearful Lamp.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What are the Lays of artful Addison, <br>Coldly correct, to Shakespear's Warblings wild?<br>Whom on the winding Avon's willow'd Banks<br>Fair Fancy found, and bore the smiling Babe<br>To a close Cavern: (still the Shepherds shew<br>The sacred Place, whence with religious Awe <br>They hear, returning from the Field at Eve,<br>Strange Whisperings of sweet Music thro' the Air)<br>Here, as with Honey gather'd from the Rock,<br>She fed the little Prattler, and with Songs<br>Oft' sooth'd his wondering Ears, with deep Delight <br>On her soft Lap he sat, and caught the Sounds.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oft' near some crowded City would I walk,<br>Listening the far-off Noises, rattling Carrs,<br>Loud Shouts of Joy, sad Shrieks of Sorrow, Knells<br>Full slowly tolling, Instruments of Trade, <br>Striking mine Ears with one deep-swelling Hum.<br>Or wandering near the Sea, attend the Sounds<br>Of hollow Winds, and ever-beating Waves.<br>Ev'n when wild Tempests swallow up the Plains,<br>And Boreas' Blasts, big Hail, and Rains combine <br>To shake the Groves and Mountains, would I sit,<br>Pensively musing on th'outragious Crimes<br>That wake Heav'n's Vengeance: at such solemn Hours,<br>Dæmons and Goblins thro' the dark Air shriek,<br>While Hecat with her black-brow'd Sisters nine,<br>Rides o'er the Earth, and scatters Woes and Deaths.<br>Then too, they say, in drear Ægyptian Wilds<br>The Lion and the Tiger prowl for Prey<br>With Roarings loud! the list'ning Traveller<br>Starts Fear-struck, while the hollow-echoing Vaults <br>Of Pyramids encrease the deathful Sounds.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But let me never fail in cloudless Nights,<br>When silent Cynthia in her silver Car<br>Thro' the blue Concave slides, when shine the Hills,<br>Twinkle the Streams, and Woods look tipt with Gold, <br>To seek some level Mead, and there invoke<br>Old Midnight's Sister Contemplation sage,<br>(Queen of the rugged Brow, and stern-fixt Eye)<br>To lift my Soul above this little Earth,<br>This Folly-fetter'd World; to purge my Ears, <br>That I may hear the rolling Planets Song,<br>And tuneful-turning Spheres: If this debarr'd,<br>The little Fayes that dance in neighbouring Dales,<br>Sipping the Night-dew, while they laugh and love,<br>Shall charm me with a‰rial Notes. -- As thus <br>I wander musing, lo, what awful Forms<br>Yonder appear! sharp-ey'd Philosophy<br>Clad in dun Robes, an Eagle on his Wrist,<br>First meets my Eye; next, Virgin Solitude<br>Serene, who blushes at each Gazer's Sight; <br>Then Wisdom's hoary Head, with Crutch in Hand,<br>Trembling, and bent with Age; last Virtue's self<br>Smiling, in White array'd, who with her leads<br>Fair Innocence, that prattles by her Side,<br>A naked Boy! -- Harrass'd with Fear I stop, <br>I gaze, when Virtue thus -- &quot;Whoe'er thou art,<br>&quot;Mortal, by whom I deign to be beheld,<br>&quot;In these my Midnight-Walks; depart, and say<br>&quot;That henceforth I and my immortal Train<br>&quot;Forsake Britannia's Isle; who fondly stoops <br>&quot;To Vice, her favourite Paramour.&quot; -- She spoke,<br>And as she turn'd, her round and rosy Neck,<br>Her flowing Train, and long, ambrosial Hair,<br>Breathing rich Odours, I enamour'd view.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O who will bear me then to Western Climes, <br>(Since Virtue leaves our wretched Land) to Shades<br>Yet unpolluted with Iberian Swords;<br>With simple Indian Swains, that I may hunt<br>The Boar and Tiger thro' Savannah's wild?<br>There fed on Dates and Herbs, would I despise <br>The far-fetch'd Cates of Luxury, and Hoards<br>Of narrow-hearted Avarice; nor heed<br>The distant Din of the tumultuous World.<br>So when rude Whirlwinds rouze the roaring Main,<br>Beneath fair Thetis sits, in coral Caves, <br>Serenely gay, nor sinking Sailors Cries<br>Disturb her sportive Nymphs, who round her form<br>The light fantastic Dance, or for her Hair<br>Weave rosy Crowns, or with according Lutes<br>Grace the soft Warbles of her honied Voice.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Joseph+Warton">Joseph Warton</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=427507" data-title="The Enthusiast, or the Lover of Nature de Joseph Warton" data-description="Ye green-rob'd Dryads, oft' at dusky Eve
By wondering Shepherds seen, to Forests brown,
To unfrequented Meads, and pathless Wilds,
Lead me from Gardens deckt with Art's vain Pomps.
Can gilt Alcoves, can Marble-mimic Gods, 
Parterres embroider'd, O..."></div>
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