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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=455710" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Stanzas Written under an Oak in Windsor Forest</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">&quot;HERE POPE FIRST SUNG!&quot; O, hallow'd Tree !<br>Such is the boast thy bark displays;<br>Thy branches, like thy Patron's lays,<br>Shall ever, ever, sacred be; <br>Nor with'ring storm, nor woodman's stroke, <br>Shall harm the POET'S favourite Oak. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twas HERE, he woo'd his MUSE of fire,<br>While Inspiration's wond'rous art,<br>Sublimely stealing thro' his heart<br>Did Fancy's proudest themes inspire: <br>'Twas HERE he wisely learnt to smile <br>At empty praise, and courtly guile. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Retir'd from flatt'ring, specious arts.<br>From fawning sycophants of state,<br>From knaves, with ravag'd wealth elate,<br>And little SLAVES with TYRANT Hearts; <br>In conscious freedom nobly proud, <br>He scorn'd the envious, grov'ling crowd. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tho' splendid DOMES around them rise,<br>And pompous TITLES lull to rest<br>Each strugg'ling Virtue in the breast,<br>'Till POW'R the place of WORTH supplies;<br>The wretched herd can never know<br>The sober joys these haunts bestow. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Does the fond MUSE delight to dwell,<br>Where freezing Penance spreads its shade ?<br>When scarce the Sun's warm beams pervade <br>The hoary HERMIT'S dreary cell?<br>Ah! noTHERE, Superstition blind,<br>With torpid languor chills the mind. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Or, does she seek Life's busy scene,<br>Ah ! no, the sordid, mean, and proud,<br>The little, trifling, flutt'ring crowd, <br>Can never taste her bliss serene;<br>She flies from Fashion's tinsel toys,<br>Nor courts her smile, nor shares her joys. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nor can the dull pedantic mind,<br>E'er boast her bright creative fires;<br>Above constraint her wing aspires, <br>Nor rigid spells her flight can bind;<br>The narrow track of musty schools,<br>She leaves to plodding VAPID FOOLS. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">To scenes like THESE she bends her way,<br>HERE the best feelings of the soul<br>Nor interest taints, nor threats controul, <br>Nor vice allures, nor snares betray; <br>HERE from each trivial hope remov'd,<br>Our BARD first sought the MUSE he lov'd. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Still shall thy pensive gloom diffuse,<br>The verse sublime, the dulcet song;<br>While round the POET'S seat shall throng, <br>Each rapture sacred to the MUSE;<br>Still shall thy verdant branches be<br>The bow'r of wond'rous minstrelsy. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">When glow-worms light their little fires,<br>The am'rous SWAIN and timid MAID<br>Shall sit and talk beneath thy shade, <br>AS EVE'S last rosy tint expires;<br>While on thy boughs the plaintive DOVE,<br>Shall learn from them the tale of LOVE. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">When round the quiv'ring moon-beams play,<br>And FAIRIES form the grassy ring,<br>'Till the shrill LARK unfurls his wing, <br>And soars to greet the blushing day;<br>The NIGHTINGALE shall pour to THEE,<br>Her Song of Love-lorn Melody. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">When, thro' the forest dark and drear,<br>Full oft, as ancient stories say,<br>Old HERNE THE HUNTER i loves to stray, <br>While village damsels quake with fear;<br>Nor sprite or spectre, shall invade<br>The still repose that marks THY shade. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">BLEST OAK! thy mossy trunk shall be<br>As lasting as the LAUREL'S bloom<br>That deck's immortal VIRGIL'S tomb,<br>And fam'd as SHAKSPERE'S hallow'd Tree; <br>For every grateful MUSE shall twine <br>A votive Wreath to deck THY SHRINE.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Mary+Darby+Robinson">Mary Darby Robinson</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=455710" data-title="Stanzas Written under an Oak in Windsor Forest de Mary Darby Robinson" data-description="&quot;HERE POPE FIRST SUNG!&quot; O, hallow'd Tree !
Such is the boast thy bark displays;
Thy branches, like thy Patron's lays,
Shall ever, ever, sacred be; 
Nor with'ring storm, nor woodman's stroke, 
Shall harm the POET'S favourite Oak. 

'Twas ..."></div>
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