The imperfect record, there, may stand unblamed
As long as verse of mine shall breathe the air
Of memory, or see the light of love.[27]
Thou wert a scorner of the fields, my Friend, 50
But more in show than truth;[28] and from the fields,
And from the mountains, to thy rural grave
Transported, my soothed spirit hovers o’er
Its green untrodden turf, and blowing flowers;
And taking up a voice shall speak (tho’ still 55
Awed by the theme’s peculiar sanctity