TO MISS H—. IN KENT.
ON a clear fountain's shady brink,
Where flowers spontaneous grow,
Pleas'd I peruse your lines, and think
Of you and B—chb—h.
Imagination for my guide,
On Fancy's wings I soar,
And in your verse I seem "to ride
" Along th' enamell'd shore."
My rhymes, by your example led,
I once again renew:
How can my Muse refrain to tread
The path explor'd by you!
The beauties of the scenes in sight
She tempts me to rehearse;
The beauties of these scenes invite
The culture of my verse.
Where'er I turn my eyes around
Unnumber'd charms I view;
Here trees with fruits delicious crown'd,
There flowers of various hue.
A fountain here invites repose,
And, waving over head,
Tall firs, in venerable rows,
Afford a chequer'd shade.
Behold the ivy and the vine
Together interwove;
See fragrant honey-suckles twine
To form a rich alcove!
The charms of Nature and of Art
United here we see;
Order appears in every part,
Mix'd with Variety.
Neatness in white apparel here,
And Delicacy dwell;
The notes of birds regale my ear,
The sweets of flowers my smell.
The leaves and grass appear so green,
The birds so blithely sing,
That I can scarce discern between
The autumn and the spring.
But soon will winter strip the woods,
And strow with leaves the ground,
And soon in icy chains the floods
By winter will be bound.
And hark! even now the winds advise
These shady banks to shun;
Then cease, my Muse, quick let us rise,
And bask in open sun.