ON
MR.
WALPOLE's
HOUSE
AT
STRAWBERRY
HILL
.
BY
MISS
M.
—
.
WHEN
Envy
saw
yon
Gothic
structure
rise
,
She
view'd
the
fabric
with
malignant
eyes
:
With
grief
she
gazes
on
the
antique
wall
,
The
pictur'd
windows
,
and
the
trophy'd
hall
.
Thro'
well-ranged
chambers
,
next
she
bends
her
way
,
Gloomy
,
not
dark
,
and
chearful
,
tho'
not
gay
;
Where
to
the
whole
,
each
part
proportion
bears
,
And
all
around
,
a
pleasing
aspect
wears
.
Towards
the
study
then
her
footsteps
tend
,
Where
columns
rise
,
and
sculptur'd
arches
bend
:
Here
soothing
Melancholy
holds
her
seat
,
And
Contemplation
seeks
the
lov'd
retreat
.
The
garden
next
displays
a
magic
scene
Of
fragrant
plants
and
never-fading
green
:
Each
various
season
,
various
gifts
bestows
,
The
lilac
,
woodbine
,
and
the
blooming
rose
;
Hence
,
in
clear
prospect
to
the
gazer's
eye
,
Woods
,
hills
,
and
streams
,
in
sweet
confusion
lie
.
The
silver
Thames
,
as
he
pursues
his
way
,
Seems
here
to
loiter
,
and
prolong
his
stay
.
These
matchless
charms
,
her
indignation
move
,
She
weeps
to
find
she
cannot
but
approve
:
Then
sorely
sighing
,
from
her
canker'd
breast
,
Thus
the
curst
fiend
her
impious
woes
exprest
:
Am
I
in
vain
the
foe
to
all
thy
race
?
'Twas
I
that
wrought
thy
patriot
sire's
disgrace
;
In
vain
I
strove
to
blot
his
honour'd
name
,
Brighter
it
shines
,
restor'd
by
endless
fame
:
And
must
another
Walpole
break
my
rest
,
And
must
thy
praises
,
my
repose
molest
?
'Tis
thine
,
by
various
talents
,
still
to
please
,
To
plan
with
judgment
,
execute
with
ease
;
With
equal
skill
,
to
build
,
converse
and
write
,
To
charm
the
mind
,
and
gratify
the
sight
.
Ah
!
could
I
but
these
battlements
o'erthrow
,
And
lay
this
monument
of
genius
low
?
But
vain
the
wish
,
for
art
and
nature
join
To
add
perfection
to
the
fair
design
:
It
must
proceed
,
for
so
the
fates
decree
,
Yet
mark
the
sentence
that's
pronounc'd
by
me
:
Thousands
that
view
it
shall
the
work
despise
,
And
thousands
more
shall
view
it
with
my
eyes
;
Th'
applause
which
thou
so
gladly
wouldst
receive
,
The
candid
and
the
wise
alone
shall
give
:
Taste
,
tho'
much
talk'd
of
,
is
confin'd
to
few
,
They
best
can
prize
it
,
who
are
most
like
you
.