LINES
Reading edition
WRITTEN IN A HERMITAGE, AT DRONNINGAARD, NEAR COPENHAGEN.
Delicious gloom! asylum of repose! Within your verdant shades, your tranquil bound, A wretched fugitive[14], oppress’d by woes, The balm of peace, that long had left him, found. Ne’er does the trump of war disturb this grove; Throughout its deep recess the warbling bird Discourses sweetly of its happy lore, Or distant sounds of rural joy are heard. Life’s checquer’d scene is softly pictur’d here; Here the proud moss-rose spreads its transient pride; Close by, the willow drops a dewy tear, And gaudy flow’rs the modest lily hide. Alas! poor Hermit! happy had it been For thee, if in these shades thy days had past, If, well contented with the happy scene, Thou ne’er again had fac’d life’s stormy blast! And Pity oft shall shed the gen’rous tear O’er the sad moral which thy days disclose; There view how restless is our nature here, How strangely hostile to its own repose.
THE HERMIT’S EPITAPH.
Here may he rest, who, shunning scenes of strife, Enjoy’d at Dronningaard a Hermit’s life: The faithless splendour of a court he knew, And all the ardour of the tented field, Soft Passion’s idler charm, not less untrue, And all that listless Luxury can yield. He tasted, tender Love! thy chatter sweet; Thy promis’d happiness prov’d mere deceit. To Hymen’s hallow’d fane by Reason led, He deem’d the path he trod the path of bliss; Oh! ever-mourn’d mistake! from int’rest bred, Its dupe was plung’d in misery’s abyss: But Friendship offer’d him, benignant pow’r! Her cheering hand, in trouble’s darkest hour: Beside this shaded stream, her soothing voice Bade the disconsolate again rejoice: Peace in his heart revives, serenely sweet; The calm content, so sought for as his choice, Quits him no more in this belov’d retreat.