Is then no nook of English ground secure
From rash assault? Schemes of
retirement sown
In youth, and 'mid the
busy world kept
pure
As when their earliest flowers of
hope were blown,
Must perish; how can they this blight
endure?
And must he too the ruthless
change bemoan
Who scorns a false utilitarian lure
'Mid his paternal fields at random
thrown?
Baffle the threat,
bright Scene, from Orresthead
Given to the pausing traveler's rapturous glance:
Plead for thy
peace, thou
beautiful romance
Of
nature; and, if
human hearts be dead,
Speak, passing winds; ye torrents, with your
strong
And
constant voice, protest against the
wrong.