Yet, not to deck pale hours with vain parade
Beneath the blaze of wide-illumin'd Dome;
Not for the bounding Dance; — not to pervade,
And charm the sense with music; — nor, as roam
The mimic Passions o'er theatric scene,
To laugh, or weep; — O! not for these, I ween,
But for delights that made the  their home,
Was the grey night-frost on the sounding plain
More than the Sun invok'd, that gilds the grassy lane.