I

    sy -

    O , O troubled  - ture,

    Decrepit age t ied to me

    As to a dogs tail?

    Never had I more

    Excited, passionate, fantastical

    Imagination, nor an ear and eye

    t more expected the impossible -

    No, not in boyh rod and fly,

    Or the humbler worm, I climbed Ben Bulbens back

    And o spend.

    It seems t I must bid the Muse go pack,

    Co and Plotinus for a friend

    Until imagination, ear and eye,

    Can be content  and deal

    In abstract things; or be derided by

    A sort of battered kettle at the heel.

    II

    I pace upon ttlements and stare

    On tions of a house, or where

    tree, like a sooty finger, starts from th;

    And send imagination forth

    Under the days declining beam, and call

    Images and memories

    From ruin or from ancient trees,

    For I ion of them all.

    Beyond t ridge lived Mrs. French, and once

    ick or sconce

    Lit up the wine.

    A serving-man, t could divine

    t most respected ladys every wish,

    Ran and he garden shears

    Clipped an insolent farmers ears

    And brougtle covered dish.

    Some feill when I was young

    A peasant girl commended by a Song,

    rocky place,

    And praised the colour of her face,

    And er joy in praising her,

    Remembering t, if walked shere,

    Farmers jostled at the fair

    So great a glory did the song confer.