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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=539254" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Elegy I. He Arrives at His Retirement in the Country</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">He Arrives at His Retirement in the Country, and Takes Occasion To Expatiate in Praise of Simplicity.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To a Friend</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>For rural virtues, and for native skies,<br>I bade Augusta's venal sons farewell;<br>Now 'mid the trees I see my smoke arise,<br>Now hear the fountains bubbling round my cell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O may that Genius, which secures my rest,<br>Preserve this villa for a friend that's dear!<br>Ne'er may my vintage glad the sordid breast,<br>Ne'er tinge the lip that dares be insincere!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Far from these paths, ye faithless Friends, depart!<br>Fly my plain board, abhor my hostile name!<br>Hence the faint verse that flows not from the heart,<br>But mourns, in labour'd strains, the price of fame!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O loved Simplicity! be thine the prize!<br>Assiduous Art correct her page in vain!<br>His be the palm, who, guiltless of disguise,<br>Contemns the power the dull resource to feign!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Still may the mourner, lavish of his tears<br>For lucre's venal need, invite my scorn!<br>Still may the bard, dissembling doubts and fears,<br>For praise, for flattery sighing, sigh forlorn!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Soft as the line of lovesick Hammond flows,<br>'Twas his fond heart effused the melting theme;<br>Ah! never could Aonia's hill disclose<br>So fair a fountain, or so loved a stream.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ye loveless Bards! intent with artful pains<br>To form a sigh, or to contrive a tear!<br>Forego your Pindus, and on - plains<br>Survey Camilla's charms, and grow sincere.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But thou, my Friend! while in thy youthful soul<br>Love's gentle tyrant seats his awful throne,<br>Write from thy bosom-let not art control<br>The ready pen, that makes his edicts known.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Pleasing, when youth is long expired, to trace<br>The forms our pencil or our pen design'd!<br>'Such was our youthful air, and shape, and face!<br>Such the soft image of our youthful mind!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Soft, whilst we sleep beneath the rural bowers,<br>The Loves and Graces steal unseen away;<br>And where the turf diffused its pomp of flowers,<br>We wake to wintry scenes of chill decay!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Curse the sad fortune that detains thy fair;<br>Praise the soft hours that gave thee to her arms;<br>Paint thy proud scorn of every vulgar care,<br>When hope exalts thee, or when doubt alarms.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where with Oenone thou hast worn the day,<br>Near fount or stream, in meditation, rove;<br>If in the grove Oenone loved to stray,<br>The faithful Muse shall meet thee in the grove.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Shenstone">William Shenstone</a><div class=q>
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To a Friend


For rural virtues, and for native skies,
I bade Augusta's venal sons farewell;
Now 'mid the trees I see my smoke arise,
Now hear t..."></div>
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