While some admire Potosi's splendid ore,
And raptur'd gaze on Delhy's gorgeous throne,
Mine be some silent, some sequester'd shore,
To dwell with friendship and the muse alone:
With chosen friends to take the evening walk,
To mark the landscape as we pass along;
Of nature's wisdom, and her works to talk,
From thence to learn the animating song,
Ne'er let the lust of lucre warp my breast,
Nor wild ambition fire my kindling soul;
Still in my native country let me rest,
Still let my silent days unnotic'd roll;
Mine be the morning breeze, and evening gale,
The murm'ring streamlet, and the woody dale.