21
Wake, England, wake! 'tis now the hour
- To sweep away this black disgrace
The want of locomotive power
- In so enjoyable a place.
Nature has done her part, and why
- Is mightier man in his to fail?
I want to hear the porters cry,
- "Change here for Ennerdale!"
Man! nature must be sought and found
- In lonely pools, on verdant banks;
Go, fight her on her chosen ground,
- Turn shapely Thirlmere into tanks:
Pursue her to her last retreats,
- And if perchance a garden plot
Is found among the London streets,
- Smoke, steam and spare it not.
Presumptuous nature ! do not rate
- Unduly high thy humble lot,
Nor vainly strive to emulate
- The fame of Stephenson and Watt.
The beauties which thy lavish pride
- Has scattered through the smiling land
Are little worth till sanctified
- By man's completing hand.
