Page:Pleasant Memories of Pleasant Lands.djvu/196

Rh Thy humble labors here. Gay Cupid clasps

The unscathed butterfly, sweet Hebe smiles,

Latona, mid her children, cries to Jove,

Achilles mourns his wound, Endymion sleeps,

The Mother of Napoleon wears the grace

Canova gave, and proud Borghesa rears

Her head in majesty, yet none despise

Thy lowly toil.

Even thus it was of old,

That woman's hand, amid the elements

Of patient industry, and household good,

Reproachless wrought, twining the slender thread

From the slight distaff, or in skilful loom

Weaving rich tissues, or with varied tints

Of bright embroidery, pleased to decorate

The mantle of her lord. And it was well;

For in such sheltered and congenial sphere

Content with duty dwelt.

Yet few there were,

Sweet Filatrice, who in their homely task

Found such retreat or goodly company,

To dignify their toils. And we, who roam

Mid all this grand enchantment, proud saloon,

And solemn chapel, with its voice of God,

Or lose ourselves amid the wildering maze

Of plants and buds and blossoms, uttering forth

Mute eloquence to Him, are pleased to lay

Our slight memorial at thy snowy feet.

Now, on to Haddon Hall. The postern low,

And threshold, worn with tread of many feet,