Hail ! ever awful maid,
In russet vest array'd,
Queen of the distant plain and rural cot;
Within thy silent cells,
Eternal pleasure dwells,
And heaven-born virtue seeks thy lonely grot.

Oft when the cheerful dawn
Spreads o'er the brightening lawn,
With dewy hand thou cull'st the opening flow'rs;
And when the genial ray,
Glares on the face of day,
Retir'st to cooling shades and fragrant bow'rs.

The soul-inspiring muse
Thy silent step pursues;
With thee she often strikes the trembling string;
Thou giv'st the words that glow,
Thou giv'st the verse to flow,
And bid'st wild fancy stretch her varying wing.

Remote from noise and strife,
And all the cares of life,
With thee reflection ever deigns to dwell;
No rude impetuous noise
Disturbs thy sober joys,
But awful silence hovers o'er thy cell.

If, 'midst the lonely shade,
Thou rov'st with silent tread,
Where gentle linnets tune the pensive lay;
Or on the mountain's brow,
Amidst the falling dew,
Mark'st the last gleam of evening's parting ray;

Or if thou deign'st to rove,
Amid the moss-grown grove,
Or where yon cloisters' mouldering walls extend,
Or on the briny steep
Explor'st the cavern's deep,
Still shall thy votary on thy steps attend.

Hail ! ever awful maid,
In russet vest array'd,
Queen of the distant plain and rural cot;
Within thy silent cells,
Eternal pleasure dwells,
And heaven-born virtue seeks thy lonely grot.

Oft when the cheerful dawn
Spreads o'er the brightening lawn,
With dewy hand thou cull'st the opening flow'rs;
And when the genial ray,
Glares on the face of day,
Retir'st to cooling shades and fragrant bow'rs.

The soul-inspiring muse
Thy silent step pursues;
With thee she often strikes the trembling string;
Thou giv'st the words that glow,
Thou giv'st the verse to flow,
And bid'st wild fancy stretch her varying wing.

Remote from noise and strife,
And all the cares of life,
With thee reflection ever deigns to dwell;
No rude impetuous noise
Disturbs thy sober joys,
But awful silence hovers o'er thy cell.

If, 'midst the lonely shade,
Thou rov'st with silent tread,
Where gentle linnets tune the pensive lay;
Or on the mountain's brow,
Amidst the falling dew,
Mark'st the last gleam of evening's parting ray;

Or if thou deign'st to rove,
Amid the moss-grown grove,
Or where yon cloisters' mouldering walls extend,
Or on the briny steep
Explor'st the cavern's deep,
Still shall thy votary on thy steps attend.