Classic Poem

Ye green-robed Dryads, oft at dusky eve
By wondering shepherds seen, to forests brown,
To unfrequented meads, and pathless wilds,
Lead me from gardens decked with art's vain pomps.
Can gilt alcoves, can marble-mimic gods,
Parterres embroidered, obelisks, and urns,
Of high relief; can the long, spreading lake,
Or vista lessening to the sight; can Stow
With all her Attic fanes, such raptures raise,
As the thrush-haunted copse, where lightly leaps
The fearful fawn the rustling leaves along,
And the brisk squirrel sports from bough to bough,
While from an hollow oak, whose naked roots
O'erhang a pensive rill, the busy bees
Hum drowsy lullabies? The bards of old,
Fair Nature's friends, sought such retreats, to charm
Sweet Echo with their songs; oft too they met
In summer evenings, near sequestered bow'rs,
Or mountain-nymph, or Muse, and eager learned
The moral strains she taught to mend mankind.
As to a secret grot Aegeria stole
With patriot Numa, and in silent night
Whispered him sacred laws, he list'ning sat,
Rapt with her virtuous voice, old Tiber leaned
Attentive on his urn, and hushed his waves.
Rich in her weeping country's spoils, Versailles
May boast a thousand fountains, that can cast
The tortured waters to the distant heav'ns;
Yet let me choose some pine-topped precipice
Abrupt and shaggy, whence a foamy stream,
Like Anio, tumbling roars; or some bleak heath,
Where straggling stand the mournful juniper,
Or yew-tree scathed; while in clear prospect round,
From the grove's bosom spires emerge, and smoke
In bluish wreaths ascends, ripe harvests wave,
Low, lonely cottages, and ruined tops
Of Gothic battlements appear, and streams
Beneath and sunbeams twinkle.--The shrill lark,
That wakes the woodman to his early task,
Or lovesick Philomel, whose luscious lays
Soothe lone night-wanderers, the moaning dove
Pitied by listening milkmaid, far excel
The deep-mouthed viol, the soul-lulling lute,
And battle-breathing trumpet. Artful sounds!
That please not like the choristers of air,
When first they hail th' approach of laughing May.

All-beauteous Nature! by thy boundless charms
Oppressed, O where shall I begin thy praise,
Where turn th' ecstatic eye, how ease my breast
That pants with wild astonishment and love!
Dark forests, and the op'ning lawn, refreshed
With ever-gushing brooks, hill, meadow, dale,
The balmy bean-field, the gay-coloured close,
So sweetly interchanged, the lowing ox,
The playful lamb, the distant water-fall
Now faintly heard, now swelling with the breeze,
The sound of pastoral reed from hazel-bower,
The choral birds, the neighing steed, that snuffs
His dappled mate, stung with intense desire,
The ripened orchard when the ruddy orbs
Betwixt the green leaves blush, the azure skies,
The cheerful sun that through earth's vitals pours
Delight and health and heat; all, all conspire
To raise, to soothe, to harmonise the mind,
To lift on wings of praise, to the great Sire
Of being and of beauty, at whose nod
Creation started from the gloomy vault
Of dreary Chaos, while the grisly king
Murmured to feel his boisterous power confined.
What are the lays of artful Addison,
Coldly correct, to Shakespeare's warblings wild?
Whom on the winding Avon's willowed banks
Fair Fancy found, and bore the smiling babe
To a close cavern (still the shepherds show
The sacred place, whence with religious awe
They hear, returning from field at eve,
Strange whisp'rings of sweet music through the air):
Here, as with honey gathered from the rock,
She fed the little prattler, and with songs
Oft soothed his wond'ring ears; with deep delight
On her soft lap he sat, and caught the sounds.