Classic Poem

BOOK II.

Beyond those western hills, whose haughty brow,
To heaven exalted, scorn'd the world below,
A plain outspread, with growing verdure bright,
And stole, extensive, from the aching sight.
Here, in proud pomp, adorn'd with countless spires,
That mock'd the glories of the solar fires,
Gibeon's imperial towers sublimely rose,
And spurn'd the terrors of surrounding foes.
Now o'er the hills red streams began to burn,
And bursting splendors usher'd in the morn;
With living dies the flowers all-beauteous glow'd;
O'er the glad fields etherial odours flow'd;
The forest echoed with a boundless song,
And rising breezes pour'd the strains along.
Adorn'd with green, before the palace lay
A spacious square, and smil'd upon the day.