'Mid rocks, and woods, and solitudes. I hail
Rather the steps of Culture, that ascend
The precipice's side. She bids the wild
Bloom, and adorns with beauty not its own
The ridged mountain's tract; she speaks, and lo!
The yellow harvest nods upon the slope;
And through the dark and matted moss upshoots
The bursting clover, smiling to the sun.
These are thy offspring, Culture! the green herb 340
Is thine, that decks with rich luxuriance
The pasture's lawny range; the yellow corn,
That waves upon the upland ridge, is thine;
Thine too the elegant abode, that smiles
Amidst the rocky scene, and wakes the thought,
The tender thought, of all life's charities.
And senseless were my heart, could I look back
Upon the varied way my feet have trod,
Without a silent prayer that health and joy,
And love and happiness, may long abide 350
In the romantic vale where Ellen winds.

[66] Coombe-Ellen (in Welsh, Cwm Elan) is situated among the most
romantic mountains of Radnorshire, about five miles from Rhayd'r. This
poem is inscribed to Thomas Grove, Esq. of Fern, Wiltshire, at whose
summer residence, in Radnorshire, it was written.

[67] Nant-Vola.

[68] The _Silures_, comprehending Radnorshire, Herefordshire,
Brecknockshire, Monmouthshire, and Glamorganshire, were the bravest of
the Britons; Caractacus, the greatest and most renowned leader Britain
had ever produced, was their king.

[69] Dole-Vinoc rock.

SUMMER EVENING AT HOME.

Come, lovely Evening! with thy smile of peace
Visit my humble dwelling; welcomed in,
Not with loud shouts, and the thronged city's din,
But with such sounds as bid all tumult cease
Of the sick heart; the grasshopper's faint pipe
Beneath the blades of dewy grass unripe,
The bleat of the lone lamb, the carol rude
Heard indistinctly from the village green,
The bird's last twitter, from the hedge-row seen,
Where, just before, the scattered crumbs I strewed,
To pay him for his farewell song;--all these
Touch soothingly the troubled ear, and please
The stilly-stirring fancies. Though my hours
(For I have drooped beneath life's early showers)
Pass lonely oft, and oft my heart is sad,
Yet I can leave the world, and feel most glad
To meet thee, Evening, here; here my own hand
Has decked with trees and shrubs the s