Aaron Hill

For man may pious texts repeat,
And yet religion have no inward seat.

For man may pious texts repeat,
And yet religion have no inward seat.

To his tuned spirit the wild heather-bells
Ring Sabbath knells;
The sod's a cushion for his pious read more

To his tuned spirit the wild heather-bells
Ring Sabbath knells;
The sod's a cushion for his pious want,
And, consecrated by the heaven within it,
The sky-blue pool a font.

At night, to his own sharp fancies a prey,
He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way,
read more

At night, to his own sharp fancies a prey,
He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way,
Tormenting himself with his prickles.

Behold him in conceited circles sail,
Strutting and dancing and now planted stiff,
In all his pomp read more

Behold him in conceited circles sail,
Strutting and dancing and now planted stiff,
In all his pomp of pageantry, as if
He felt the eyes of Europe on his tail.

He comes to the world, as a gentleman comes
To a lodging ready furnished.

He comes to the world, as a gentleman comes
To a lodging ready furnished.