And my low roof the Vatican recalls!
Soon as the morning-dream my pillow flies,
To waking sense what brighter visions rise!
O mark! again the coursers of the Sun,
At GUIDO'S call, their round of glory run! [e]
Again the rosy Hours resume their flight,
Obscur'd and lost in floods of golden light!
But could thine erring friend so long forget
(Sweet source of pensive joy and fond regret)
That here its warmest hues the pencil flings,
Lo! here the lost restores, the absent brings;
And still the Few best lov'd and most rever'd [f]
Rise round the board their social smile endear'd?
Selected shelves shall claim thy studious hours;
There shall thy ranging mind be fed on flowers! [Footnote 1]
There, while the shaded lamp's mild lustre streams,
Read antient books, or woo inspiring dreams;[g]
And, when a sage's bust arrests thee there, [h]
Pause, and his features with his thoughts compare.
--Ah, most that Art my grateful rapture calls,
Which breathes a soul into the silent walls; [Footnote 2]
Which gathers round the Wise of every Tongue, [i]
All on whose words departed nations hung;
Still prompt to charm with many a converse sweet;
Guides in the world, companions in retreat!
Tho' my thatch'd bath no rich Mosaic knows,
A limpid spring with unfelt current flows.
Emblem of Life! which, still as we survey,
Seems motionless, yet ever glides away!
The shadowy walls record, with Attic art,