“That rears his Gothic steeple to the sky
“Each noon beneath those elms he mus’d awhile,
“Then por’d upon a book with greedy eye.
“Along the mazes of yon murm’ring stream,
“With pensive pace at ev’ning would he stray,
“’Till wrapt in wand’ring fancy’s airy dream
“He mutter’d metre to the lunar ray.
“One morn I sought him vainly through the line,
“Among the elms and o’er the verdant lea,
“Another came, nor near the house divine,