contents | previous | next My early vows were paid to Nature's shrine, When thoughtless joy, and infant hope were mine, And whose lorn stream has heard me since deplore Too many sorrow! Sighing I resign Thy solitary beauties and no more Or on thy rocks, or in thy woods recline, Or on the heath, by moon-light lingering, pore On air-drawn phantoms While in Fancy's ear As in the evening wind thy murmurs swell, The Enthusiast of the Lyre, who wander'd here,
Seems yet to strike his visionary shell, Of power to call forth Pity's tenderest tear, Or wake wild frenzy from her hideous cell! |
