Page:Pleasant Memories of Pleasant Lands.djvu/196

Thy humble labors here. Gay Cupid clasps
The unscathed butterfly, sweet Hebe smiles,
Latona, mid her children, cries to Jove,
Achilles mourns his wound, Endymion sleeps,
The Mother of Napoleon wears the grace
Canova gave, and proud Borghesa rears
Her head in majesty, yet none despise
Thy lowly toil.
Even thus it was of old,
That woman's hand, amid the elements
Of patient industry, and household good,
Reproachless wrought, twining the slender thread
From the slight distaff, or in skilful loom
Weaving rich tissues, or with varied tints
Of bright embroidery, pleased to decorate
The mantle of her lord. And it was well;
For in such sheltered and congenial sphere
Content with duty dwelt.
Yet few there were,
Sweet Filatrice, who in their homely task
Found such retreat or goodly company,
To dignify their toils. And we, who roam
Mid all this grand enchantment, proud saloon,
And solemn chapel, with its voice of God,
Or lose ourselves amid the wildering maze
Of plants and buds and blossoms, uttering forth
Mute eloquence to Him, are pleased to lay
Our slight memorial at thy snowy feet.

Now, on to Haddon Hall. The postern low,

And threshold, worn with tread of many feet,