{21}
I AM rooted in the wall |
| Of buttress'd tower or ancient hall; |
| Prison'd in an art-wrought bed. |
| Cased in mortar, cramp'd with lead; |
| Of a living stock alone |
| Brother of the lifeless stone. |
Else unprized, I have my worth |
| On the spot that gives me birth; |
| Nature's vast and varied field |
| Braver flowers than me will yield, |
| Bold in form and rich in hue, |
| Children of a purer dew; |
| Smiling lips and winning eyes |
| Meet for earthly paradise. {22} |
| Choice are such,—and yet thou knowest |
| Highest he whose lot is lowest. |
| They, proud hearts, a home reject |
| Framed by human architect; |
| Humble-I can bear to dwell |
| Near the pale recluse's cell, |
| And I spread my crimson bloom, |
| Mingled with the cloister's gloom. |
| Life's gay gifts and honours rare, |
| Flowers of favour! win and wear! |
| Rose of beauty, be the queen |
| In pleasure's ring and festive scene. |
| Ivy, climb and cluster, where |
| Lordly oaks vouchsafe a stair. |
| Vaunt, fair Lily, stately dame, |
| Pride of birth and pomp of name. |
| Miser Crocus, starved with cold, |
| Hide in earth thy timid gold. |
| Travell'd Dahlia, freely boast |
| Knowledge brought from foreign coast. |
| Pleasure, wealth, birth, knowledge, power, |
| These have each an emblem flower; |
| So for me alone remains |
| Lowly thought and cheerful pains. {23} |
| Be it mine to set restraint |
| On roving wish and selfish plaint; |
| And for man's drear haunts to leave |
| Dewy morn and balmy eve. |
| Be it mine the barren stone |
| To deck with green life not its own. |
| So to soften and to grace |
| Of human works the rugged face. |
| Mine, the Unseen to display |
| In the crowded public way, |
| Where life's busy arts combine |
| To shut out the Hand Divine. |
Ah! no more a scentless flower, |
| By approving Heaven's high power, |
| Suddenly my leaves exhale |
| Fragrance of the Syrian gale. |
| Ah! 'tis timely comfort given |
| By the answering breath of Heaven! |
| May it be! then well might I |
| In College cloister live and die. |
Ulcombe.
October 2, 1827. |