Page:Scenes in my Native Land.pdf/262

The bright-eyed pheasant, beauteous guest,
The eastern bird with gorgeous vest,
Still for his mimic speech carest,
The curtaining jessamine, that showers
Rich fragrance o'er the nightly bowers,
Those halls, whose varied stores impart
The classic pencil's magic art,
The chisel's life-bestowing power,
The lore that cheats the studious hour,
And music's strains, that vainly vie
With the touched spirit's melody;
How strong the tissued spells that bind
The admiring eye and grateful mind.

Here Wisdom rests in sylvan shade,
That erst an empire's council's swayed.
And Goodness, whose persuasive art
So justly won that empire's heart,
And Piety, with hoary hair,
Which rising o'er this Eden fair,
Beholds, by mortal foot untrod,
A brighter Eden with its God.

Montpelier! these thy name have set
A gem in memory's coronet,
Whose lustre ruthless time shall spare
Till from her brow that crown he tear,
Till from her book that page he rend,
Which of a stranger made a friend.