Oh Nymph! sedately sweet, whose solemn smile,
What time the day-star sunk to golden rest,
So often, would my hermit-step beguile
To scenes, by Fancy's magic finer drest;

Whether, in fond, luxurious leisure laid,
'Mid the dim covert of some woody waste,
Whose wild uncertainty of waving shade,
Scarce one coy sunbeam, tremblingly, embrac'd;

Or, musing on each pearly drop that fell,
Half-pendulous, from some lone N AÏAD 's urn;
Whose waters from the rock would slowly well,
And in their ling'ring lapse melodious mourn;

What vision'd raptures would my breast embay
In silent bliss, abstractedly refin'd,
'Till in some artless, but energic lay,
Spontaneous, burst the free, poetic mind?

Say, shall I ever tread the sacred sod,
Again divinely fir'd with song sublime,
Where, erst, th' enthusiast form of C OLLINS trod,
And the rapt Passions listen'd to his rhyme?

Oh! woods and wilds! once vocal to his verse!
Within whose haunts, ev'n now, at ev'ning hour,
The green-hair'd Sisterhood their dirge rehearse,
And round his low tomb nurse the fading flow'r,

Shall I not wander thro' each dusk retreat,
Each deep-drawn alley, hung with ivy pale,
And mark the tiny print of fairy feet,
And hear soft murmurs die along the vale?

Yes, modest maid, who hat'st the painful glare
Of splendid Folly, and unmeaning Pride,
Still, shall we breathe the aromatic air,
That wantons o'er the mountain's flowery side;

Still, to thy serious ear my song shall flow,
My song enamour'd of the rural theme,
Where no rough blasts of loud Ambition blow,
To chase th' illusion of Hope's noontide dream;

And Study shall illume the hallow'd hour,
With such bright wonders of the learned page,
As Time, hoar glutton! never may devour,
Illustrious beaming on each future Age;

Such as the B ARD of C ALVARY atchiev'd,
Vers'd in religious, and heroic lore,
Of late, when M ILTON 's mighty soul reliev'd,
Might view his Paradise regain'd once more.

With thee convers'd the heirs of old renown:
Not in the stately porch, nor storied hall,
But in thy virid haunts, and shadows brown,
They own'd of Wisdom the majestic call;

For, ever, by thy graceful side, are seen
The beauteous twins of Philosophic Truth;
Patience, the meek-ey'd fair of placid mien,
And Resolution, the undaunted youth;

Then deem not busy life's alluring blaze,
Has won me, devious, from thy sylvan seat;
Ah! still, my grateful heart must hymn thy praise,
Still wooe thy favor, Nymph, sedately sweet!