Amid sequester’d bow’rs near gliding streams, Druids and Bards enjoy’d serenest dreams.  Such was the seat where courtly Horace sung:  And his bold harp immortal Maro strung:  Where tuneful Orpheus’ unresisted lay, Made rapid tygers bear their rage away; While groves attentive to th’ extatic sound Burst from their roots, and raptur’d, danc’d around.  Such feats the venerable Seers of old (When blissful years in golden circles roll’d) Chose and admir’d:  e’en Goddesses and Gods (As poets feign) were fond of such abodes:  Th’ imperial consort of fictitious Jove, For fount full Ida forsook the realms above.  Oft to Idalia on a golden cloud, Veil’d in a mist of fragrance, Venus rode; The num’rous altars to the queen were rear’d, And love-sick youths there am’rous-vows prefer’d, While fair-hair’d damsels (a lascivious train) With wanton rites ador’d her gentle reign.  The silver-shafted Huntress of the woods, Sought pendant shades, and bath’d in cooling floods.  In palmy Delos, by Scamander’s side, Or when Cajister roll’d his silver tide, Melodious Phoebus sang; the Muses round Alternate warb’ling to the heav’nly sound.  E’en the feign’d MONARCH of heav’n’s bright abode, High thron’d in gold, of Gods the sov’reign God, Oft time prefer’d the shade of Ida’s grove To all th’ambrosial feast’s, and nectar’d cups above.

    Behold, the rosy-finger’d morning dawn,
    In saffron rob’d, and blushing o’er the lawn! 
    Reflected from the clouds, a radiant stream,
    Tips with etherial dew the mountain’s brim. 
    Th’ unfolding roses, and the op’ning flow’rs
    Imbibe the dew, and strew the varied bow’rs,
    Diffuse nectarious sweets around, and glow
    With all the colours of the show’ry bow
    The industrious bees their balmy toil renew,
    Buzz o’er the field, and sip the rosy dew. 
    But yonder comes th’illustrious God of day,
    Invests the east, and gilds the etherial way;
    The groves rejoice, the feather’d nations sing,
    Echo the mountains and the vallies ring.

    Hail Orb! array’d with majesty and fire,
    That bids each sable shade of night retire! 
    Fountain of light! with burning glory crown’d,
    Darting a deluge of effulgence round! 
    Wak’d by thy genial and praline ray,
    Nature resumes her verdure, and looks gay;
    Fresh blooms the rose, the dropping plants revive,
    The groves reflourish, and forests live. 
    Deep in the teeming earth, the rip’ning ore
    Confesses thy consolidating pow’r: 
    Hence labour draws her tools, and artists mould
    The fusile silver and the ductile gold: 
    Hence war is furnish’d, and the regal shield
    Like lightning flashes o’er th’ illumin’d field. 
    If thou so fair with delegated light,
    That all heav’n’s