Their antient seats let others fly,
To stroll beneath a foreign sky,
Or loitering in their villas stay,
Till useless summers waste away,
While, hopeless of their lord's return,
The poor exhausted tenants mourn;
From Lowther she disdains to run
To bask beneath a southern sun,
Opens the hospitable door,
Welcomes the friend, relieves the poor;
Bids tenants share the lib'ral board,
And early know and love their lord,
Whose courteous deeds to all extend,
And make each happy guest a friend.
To smiling earth the grateful main
Thus gives her gather'd streams again
In showers on hill, and dale, and plain.