As o'er yon wild hill, when the browner light
Of evening falls, the village-maiden hies
To foster some fair plant with kind supplies,
Some stranger plant, that yet in tender plight,
But feebly buds, ere Spring has open'd quite
The soft affections of serener skies;
So I, with such like gentle thought devise
This stranger tongue to cultivate with care,
All for the sake of lovely lady fair;
And tune my lays in language little tried
By such as wont to Tamis' banks repair, —
Tamis' forsook for Arno's flowery side,
So wrought Love's will that ever ruleth wide!