By sun or star by day or night
This Garden yields supreme delight;
It is that heaven, from ills exempt,
Of which the ancient Poets dreamt.
For here we see each flower that blows,
And here we scent each fragrant rose
That ever Nature's pencil drew,
With colours, to enchant the view.

In dewy morn, or evening's shade
When suns behind the hills are laid,
When moons a second light display
And dart the sun's reflected ray,
Who would not through this magic rove,
To enjoy the garden and the grove.

Oh what a dream might here he had
Of scenes we thought forever fled —
This must be Paradise complete,
At least, the muses favorite seat.
Could Adam here return with Eve ,
And not a serpent to deceive,
She and her poor deluded swain
Might claim their native walks again.

For here we find a sweet repose,
And here a heavenly river flows:
Dame Nature here is calm and kind,
Nor has one frown that we can find:
Another system all would seem,
And so we think, or so we dream.

And here amidst the groves we see
An angel of the first degree,
With such a sweetness in her look —
And in her hand she held a book
So full of love and full of wit,
In verse and prose, that she had writ! —
She read aloud, with accent clear,
But few, or none were there to hear,
Her words so gracefully advanced,
So lightly through her Poems danced,
Had but one man of taste been there
To attend the readings of the Fair,
He would have shunn'd the Tavern throng,
And three times kissed her for her song.

If once a torrent here prevail'd,
And shallops through this garden sailed,
The Rainbows at Passaick falls
(Where Jersey maids sing madrigals,
Or others from that rocky steep
Too lately took the Lover's Leap)
Are tokens, surely , clear and plain ,
That River will not flood again.

Had I the right to tarry here
To pass an age or spend a year,
Not all the wreathes Napoleon gained,
Nor all the realm o'er which he reign'd
Ere Austria from the league withdrew
And Fortune from his standard flew;
Not all the fame of Washington
For empires from Old England won,
Not all Columbia , every state
Should tempt me from this garden gate.
But, dear deception, cheat me not!
What demons cloud this charming spot!
What means that hoarse, discordant roar
Of stragglers, near Passiack's shore?
Here runs at large a yelping cur,
And there the Jockey — whip and spur —
To much I fear my bliss supreme
Was merely fancy's idle dream —
And now I see a Tavern nigh
That noisy beings occupy.
I see them drunk, I hear them swear,
And now for boxing they prepare,
And now they make their courage known,
And now they grunt and now they groan;
Their tongues are loud, the men are bold,
And mastiffs growl and women scold,
And drunkards reel, and children squall;
So that to take it all in all,
These and some other little harms,
Have robbed my Eden of its charms; —
If this be Paradise complete,
Or even the muses favorite seat,
I sieze my staff, and pray for grace
To find it in — some other place.