Fortunate Vale! exulting Hill! dear Plain!
Where morn, and eve, my soul’s fair idol stray’d,
While all your winds, that murmur’d thro’ the glade,
Stole her sweet breath; yet, yet your paths retain
Prints of her step, by fount, whose floods remain
In depth unfathom’d; ’mid the rocks, that shade,
With cavern’d arch, their sleep.—Ye streams, that play’d
Around her limbs in Summer’s ardent reign,
The soft resplendence of those azure eyes
Tinged ye with living light.—The envied claim
These blest distinctions give, my lyre, my sighs,
My songs record; and, from their Poet’s flame,
Bid this wild vale, its rocks, and streams arise,
Associates still of their bright Mistress’ fame.