A SUMMONS TO THE COUNTRY.
Is it to sit within thy stately hall,
Or tread the crowded street, thy chief delight?
From all her heights and depths though Nature call
Thee to her charms—though grove, and plain, and height,
Warble for thee—though Ocean’s stormy might
Thunder for thee—though the starred heavens sublime
Shine out for thee—though peering orient bright
O’er mountain wood, the sire of day and time
Doth call for thee—and with retiring light
Glance down his hues from their celestial clime
To lure thee forth;—yet can all these excite
In thy cold breast no chord’s responsive chime?
Still wilt thou choose a prison-yard and cell?—
Well! God forgive thy choice, for thou dost penance well.