So  travels  taste;  some  progress  made  each  day.
New  plans  devised,  and  old  ones  thrown  away  ;

An  edifice,  long  styled  a  work  of  art,

Becomes  thus  metamorphosed  part  by  part,

I  'mil  at  length  the  garb  that  once  was  worn,

So  tasteful  then,  so  workmanlike,  is  gone.
Not  so  the  old  and  weather-beaten  porch,

On  whose  rude  builder  perhaps  the  glaring  torch,

That  gaudy  art  upholds  had  never  shed

The  faintest  gleam  to  show  the  route  she  led.
Or  if  it  did,  he  saw  the  dazzling  ray.
And  after  looking  took  another  way,

Preferring  much  the  light  from  gentle  moon,

Than  dazzling  splendour  of  the  rays  of  noon.
Now  mark  its  build,  four  rude  and  crooked  sticks

Support  the  roof  without  the  aid  of  bricks,

Or  mortar,  plaster,  stone,  cement  or  glue;

Its  tenons  too  and  mortises  are  few,

As  also  are  the  tiles  for  roof  required  ;

So  small  a  portion  of  the  work  was  hired,

In  short,  from  Art  himself,  that  makes  appear

As  though  the  great  mechanic  passed  by  here ;

Presuming  like  a  strolling  actor  perhaps,

The  spot  too  little  to  undo  his  "  traps,"


Reflections  from  Nature.  5

So  went  on  further  to  a  larger  place,

W  here  more  admirers  met  his  eager  face.
He  hovered  round  it  seems  but  made  no  Btay,

And  after  glancing  quickly  marched  away;

But  one  more  look  upon  the  clumsy  roof,

Which  though  nor  slate  nor  tile  is  water  proof.
Its  rude  materials  taken  as  they  grew

(With  the  exception  of  a  thump  or  two

From  lusty  arm  of  one  robust  and  hale,

That  played  a  game  in  shirt-sleeves  with  his  flail )

From  Nature's  workshop,  well  their  office  fill,

As  those  in  which  Art  shows  her  greatest  skill.
