“这里是蒲柏第一次唱歌!”哦，神圣的树!这就是你的树皮所显示的自夸;你的枝干，就像你的主荫，永远神圣;狂风暴雨，樵夫的猛击，都伤不了诗人心爱的橡树。在这里，他向他的火之缪斯求爱，灵感的奇妙艺术，崇高地偷走了他的心，幻想的最骄傲的主题激发了他;在这里，他聪明地学会了对空洞的赞美和谄媚的诡计微笑。从平淡、似是而非的艺术中退休。远离国家的阿谀奉承者，远离拿着被掠夺的财富得意忘形的无赖，远离心怀暴君之心的小奴隶;在自觉的自由中，他以高贵的骄傲，蔑视那些嫉妒的、愤怒的人群。华丽的圆顶环绕着他们，浮华的头衔使他们胸中每一种挣扎的美德都歇息下来，直到它成为有价值的地方; The wretched herd can never know The sober joys these haunts bestow. Does the fond MUSE delight to dwell, Where freezing Penance spreads its shade ? When scarce the Sun's warm beams pervade The hoary HERMIT'S dreary cell? Ah! noTHERE, Superstition blind, With torpid languor chills the mind. Or, does she seek Life's busy scene, Ah ! no, the sordid, mean, and proud, The little, trifling, flutt'ring crowd, Can never taste her bliss serene; She flies from Fashion's tinsel toys, Nor courts her smile, nor shares her joys. Nor can the dull pedantic mind, E'er boast her bright creative fires; Above constraint her wing aspires, Nor rigid spells her flight can bind; The narrow track of musty schools, She leaves to plodding VAPID FOOLS. To scenes like THESE she bends her way, HERE the best feelings of the soul Nor interest taints, nor threats controul, Nor vice allures, nor snares betray; HERE from each trivial hope remov'd, Our BARD first sought the MUSE he lov'd. Still shall thy pensive gloom diffuse, The verse sublime, the dulcet song; While round the POET'S seat shall throng, Each rapture sacred to the MUSE; Still shall thy verdant branches be The bow'r of wond'rous minstrelsy. When glow-worms light their little fires, The am'rous SWAIN and timid MAID Shall sit and talk beneath thy shade, AS EVE'S last rosy tint expires; While on thy boughs the plaintive DOVE, Shall learn from them the tale of LOVE. When round the quiv'ring moon-beams play, And FAIRIES form the grassy ring, 'Till the shrill LARK unfurls his wing, And soars to greet the blushing day; The NIGHTINGALE shall pour to THEE, Her Song of Love-lorn Melody. When, thro'the forest dark and drear, Full oft, as ancient stories say, Old HERNE THE HUNTER i loves to stray, While village damsels quake with fear; Nor sprite or spectre, shall invade The still repose that marks THY shade. BLEST OAK! thy mossy trunk shall be As lasting as the LAUREL'S bloom That deck's immortal VIRGIL'S tomb, And fam'd as SHAKSPERE'S hallow'd Tree; For every grateful MUSE shall twine A votive Wreath to deck THY SHRINE.