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Ah! then, if mine had been the Painter's hand.To express what then I saw; and add the gleam,The light that never was, on sea or land,The consecration, and the Poet's dream;
I would have planted thee, thou hoary Pile!Amid a world how different from this!Beside a sea that could not cease to smile;On tranquil land, beneath a sky of bliss:
Thou shouldst have seem'd a treasure-house, a mineOf peaceful years; a chronicle of heaven:—Of all the sunbeams that did ever shineThe very sweetest had to thee been given.
A Picture had it been of lasting ease,Elysian quiet, without toil or strife;No motion but the moving tide, a breeze,Or merely silent Nature's breathing life.
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