Page:Marmion - Walter Scott (ed. Bayne, 1889).pdf/92

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MARMION.
By silver Avon's holy shore,Till twice an hundred years roll'd o'er;When she, the bold Enchantress, came,With fearless hand and heart on flame!105From the pale willow snatch'd the treasure,And swept it with a kindred measure,Till Avon's swans, while rung the groveWith Montfort's hate and Basil's love,Awakening at the inspired strain,110Deem'd their own Shakspeare lived again.'
 Thy friendship thus thy judgment wronging,With praises not to me belonging,In task more meet for mightiest powers,Wouldst thou engage my thriftless hours.115But say, my Erskine, hast thou weigh'dThat secret power by all obey'd,Which warps not less the passive mind,Its source conceal'd or undefined;Whether an impulse, that has birth120Soon as the infant wakes on earth,One with our feelings and our powers,And rather part of us than ours;Or whether fither term'd the swayOf habit, form'd in early day?125Howe'er derived, its force confestRules with despotic sway the breast,And drags us on by viewless chain,While taste and reason plead in vain.Look east, and ask the Belgian why,130Beneath Batavia's sultry sky,He seeks not eager to inhaleThe freshness of the mountain gale,Content to rear his whiten'd wallBeside the dank and dull canal?135He'll say, from youth he loved to seeThe white sail gliding by the tree.Or see yon weatherbeaten hind,Whose sluggish herds before him wind,
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