Page:The Poems of John Dyer (1903).djvu/91

 Which crept destructive up her lofty domes, As ivy creeps around the graceful trunk Of some tall oak. Her lofty domes no more, Not ev'n the ruins of her pomp, remain ; Not ev'n the dust they sunk in; by the breath Of the Omnipotent offended hurl'd Down to the bottom of the stormy deep : Only the solitary rock remains, Her ancient site ; a monument to those Who toil and wealth exchange for sloth and pride. , Arcadian Muse I resume the pipe Of Hermes, long disus'd, tho' sweet the tone, And to the songs of Nature's choristers Harmonious. Audience pure by thy delight, Tho' few ; for every note which Virtue wounds, However pleasing to the vulgar herd, To the purg'd ear is discord. Yet too oft Has false dissembling Vice to am'rous airs The reed apply'd and heedless youth allur'd ; Too oft, with bolder sound, inflam'd the rage Of horrid war. Let now the Fleecy looms Direct our rural numbers, as of old, When plains and sheepfolds were the Muses' haunts. So thou, the friend of every virtuous deed And aim, tho' feeble, shall these rural lays Approve, O Heathcote ! whose benevolence Visits our vallies, where the pasture spreads,