Page:Poems - Southey (1799) volume 1.djvu/160

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Whose vengeful anguish for so many a yearHeld in the jacinth sepulchre entrancedLisvart and Perion, pride of chivalry.Friend of my lonely hours! thou leadest meTo such calm joys as Nature wise and goodProffers in vain to all her wretched sons;Her wretched sons who pine with want amidilThe abundant earth, and blindly bow them downBefore the Moloch shrines of Wealth and Power,Authors of Evil. Oh it is most sweetTo medicine with thy wiles the wearied heart,Sick of reality. The little pileThat tops the summit of that craggy hillShall be my dwelling; craggy is the hillAnd steep, yet thro' yon hazels upward leadsThe easy path, along whose winding wayNow close embowered I hear the unseen streamDash down, anon behold its sparkling foamGleam thro' the thicket; and ascending onNow pause me to survey the goodly vale
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