little share,
And hies from home with many a gossip’s prayer,
Turns on the neighbouring hill, once more to see
The dear abode of peace and privacy;
And as he turns, the thatch among the trees,
The smoke’s blue wreaths ascending with the breeze,
The village-common spotted white with sheep,
The church-yard yews round which his fathers sleep; [c]
All rouse Reflection’s sadly-pleasing train. 
And oft he looks and weeps, and looks again. 
   So, when the mild TUPIA dar’d explore
Arts yet untaught, and worlds unknown before,
And, with the sons of Science, woo’d the gale
That, rising, swell’d their strange expanse of sail;
So, when he breath’d his firm yet fond adieu, [d]
Borne from his leafy hut, his carv’d canoe,
And all his soul best lov’d—­such tears he shed,
While each soft scene of summer-beauty fled: 
Long o’er the wave a wistful look he cast,
Long watch’d the streaming signal from the mast;
Till twilight’s dewy tints deceiv’d his eye,
And fairy forests fring’d the evening sky. 
   So Scotia’s Queen, as slowly dawn’d the day,’ [d]
Rose on her couch, and gaz’d her soul away. 
Her eyes had bless’d the beacon’s glimmering height,
That faintly tipt the feathery surge with light;
But now the morn with orient hues pourtray’d
Each castled cliff, and brown monastic shade: 
All touch’d the talisman’s resistless spring,
And lo, what busy tribes were instant on the wing! 
   Thus kindred objects kindred thoughts inspire,
As summer-clouds flash forth electric fire. [f]
And hence this spot gives back the joys of youth,
Warm as the life, and with the mirror’s truth. 
Hence home-felt pleasure prompts the Patriot’s sigh; [g]
This makes him wish to live, and dare to die. 
For this young FOSCAKI, whose hapless fate [h]
Venice should blush to hear the Muse relate,
When exile wore his blooming years away,
To sorrow’s long soliloquies a prey,
When reason, justice, vainly urg’d his cause,
For this he rous’d her sanguinary laws;
Glad to return, tho’ Hope could grant no more,
And chains and torture hail’d him to the shore. 
   And hence the charm historic scenes impart: 
Hence Tiber awes, and Avon melts the heart. 
Aerial forms, in Tempe’s classic vale,
Glance thro’ the gloom, and whisper in the gale;
In wild Vaucluse with love and Laura dwell,
And watch and weep in ELOISA’S cell.’ [i]
’Twas ever thus.  As now at Virgil’s tomb, [k]
We bless the shade, and bid the verdure bloom: 
So Tully paus’d, amid the wrecks of Time, [l]
On the rude stone to trace the truth sublime;
When at his feet, in honour’d dust disclos’d,
The immortal Sage of Syracuse repos’d. 
And as his youth in sweet delusion hung,
Where once a Plato taught, a pindar sung;
Who now but meets him musing, when he roves
His ruin’d Tusculan’s romantic groves?