Page:Poems - Southey (1799) volume 1.djvu/210

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Recluse to sit and brood the future song,Yet not the less, Penates, loved I thenYour altars, not the less at evening hourDelighted by the well-trimm'd fire to sit,Absorbed in many a dear deceitful dreamOf visionary joys: deceitful dreams—Not wholly vain—for painting purest joys,They form'd to Fancy's mould her votary's heart.
By Cherwell's sedgey side, and in the meadsWhere Isis in her calm clear stream reflectsThe willow's bending boughs, at earliest dawnIn the noon-tide hour, and when the night-mists rose,I have remembered you: and when the noiseOf loud intemperance on my lonely earBurst with loud tumult, as recluse I sat,Pondering on loftiest themes of man redeemedFrom servitude, and vice, and wretchedness,I blest you, Household Gods! because I lovedYour peaceful altars and serener rites.Nor did I cease to reverence you, when driven
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