To a Gentleman in the Isle of A NGLESEY .

G ENTLE Druid come away
From the deep embrowning wood,
Where at noon, the doubtful ray
Scarcely strikes the nether flood;
From the mountain's awful height,
From the rock's stupendous brow,
Whence the devious orbs of sight
Faintly mark the scenes below —
Hither haste without delay;
Gentle Druid, come away.

Quit the cavern — dank, and drear,
Mystic grot, and hallow'd cell,
Where pliant faith educed from fear —
And superstition love to dwell;
Quit the oak's impervious gloom
Where the holy minstrels tread —
Chanting round the sacred tomb
Solemn requiems for the dead:
Fly the soul-inthraling lay —
Gentle Druid, — come away.

Or does some sylph the wish inspire
O'er Bronwen's manes still to mourn;
For her to tune the plaintive lyre,
Where legends place her vestal urn?
While Fancy paints the royal fair
In all the charms of beauty drest,
Gives every trait with nicest care,
And leaves her image on thy breast:
Haste to quit her magic sway,
Gentle Druid, come away.

Now the cheery linnets sing
Fluttering round the dewy thorn,
Larks, high poized on quivering wing,
Hail the roseat streaks of morn;
Briskly, here, the eastern breeze
Sweeps adown the spangled vale,
Murmurs thro' the rustling trees
All graceful bending 'fore the gale
Come, and hail with us the day,
Gentle Druid, come away.

Come, and sit, and sing with me
Where the yellow cowslips blow,
All beneath the willow tree,
While the gurgling streamlets flow, —
Let's observe the mazy tide,
Wildly wand'ring here, and there,
Trickling down the hillock's side,
'Mong the flow'rets fresh, and fair;
Come, and join the rustic lay,
Gentle Druid, come away.

Here I deftly tune the lyre —
Not as Orpheus, bard of yore,
Shepherd swains my lays admire
And hum my favorite ditties o'er;
Lambkins frisk it, all around
Fragrance breathing where they tread;
Sweets exhale from thymy ground,
And from purple vi'let-bed:
Come, and see my lambkin's play,
Gentle Druid, come away.