By walls immur'd, or lost within a wood
The cloister'd mansions of our fathers stood:
They sought protection from the dog-star's heat,
And heard, tho' felt not, the rude tempest beat:
But damps pervaded oft the gloomy hall,
And green-grown mould defac'd the 'scutcheon'd wall.
Fond of extremes (and wiser sure than they!)
We drive walls, trees, damps, arms, and all away:
Yield still too far to every thing that's new,
Nor dare to keep the golden mean in view.