Page:The Poetical Works of Thomas Parnell (1833).djvu/198

70 For fortune plac'd me in unfertile ground; Far from the joys that with my soul agree, From wit, from learning,—far, O far from thee! Here moss-grown trees expand the smallest leaf, Here half an acre's corn is half a sheaf; Here hills with naked heads the tempest meet, Rocks at their side, and torrents at their feet; Or lazy lakes, unconscious of a flood, Whose dull brown Naiads ever sleep in mud.

Yet here content can dwell, and learned ease, A friend delight me, and an author please; Even here I sing, while Pope supplies the theme, Show my own love, though not increase his fame.