XIV.
Much do they wrong our Henry, wise and kind, Morose who name thee, cynical to men, Forsaking manners civil and refined To build thyself in Walden woods a den,— Then flout society, flatter the rude hind. We better knew thee, loyal citizen! Thou, friendship’s all-adventuring pioneer, Civility itself didst civilize: Whilst braggart boors, wavering ’twixt rage and fear, Slave hearths lay waste, and Indian huts surprise, And swift the Martyr’s gibbet would uprear: Thou hail’dst him great whose valorous emprise Orion’s blazing belt dimmed in the sky,— Then bowed thy unrepining head to die.
“Happy art thou whom God doth bless With the full choice of thine own happiness; And happier yet, because thou’rt blest With prudence how to choose the best: In books and gardens thou hast placed aright— Things well which thou dost understand, And both dost make with thy laborious hand— Thy noble, innocent delight.
Methinks I see great Diocletian walk In the Salonian gardens noble shade, Which by his own imperial hands was made; I see him smile, methinks, as he does talk With the ambassadors, who come in vain To entice him to a throne again.” Cowley’s Ode to Evelyn.
XV.
Whilst from the cloistered schools rushed forth in view The eager Bachelors, on lucre bent, Or life voluptuous; even the studious few, Oblivious mostly, if they ever knew What Nature mirrored and fair learning meant; Thou, better taught, on worthier aims intent, Short distance from the Pilgrims’ sea-washed street Thine orchard planted; grove and garden there, And sheltering coppice hide thy mansion neat, By winding alley reached, and gay parterre; Where cordial welcome chosen friends shall meet, From courteous host and graceful lady fair; Then thy choice fruits we taste, thy wisdom hived, England’s rare Evelyn in thee revived.
“Thou art not gone, being gone,—where’er thou art, Thou leav’st in him thy watchful eyes, in him thy loving heart.” Donne.
XVI.
Bright visions of my sprightlier youthful days, With sunny gleams of answering friendliness, Thou brought’st me, maiden, in delightful ways, In conversation, letters, frank address; And these attractions did me so possess, The moments all were thine, and thou in sight By day’s engagements, and in dreams by night. Wished I the spell dissolved, or ever less? Ne’er may advancing years remove one tint From memory’s tablet of that happy time; And if thus tamely that romance I hint, Forgive my poor endeavor in this rhyme, Nor warrant give me now, my cherished friend, To add the more, lest I the more offend.