Need we the sunny situation here, 325 And theatres open to the south, commend? Here, where the morning’s misty breath infests More than the torrid noon? How sickly grow, How pale, the plants in those ill-fated vales That, circled round with the gigantic heap 330 Of mountains, never felt, nor never hope To feel, the genial vigor of the sun! While on the neighbouring hill the rose inflames The verdant spring; in virgin beauty blows The tender lily, languishingly sweet; 335 O’er every hedge the wanton woodbine roves, And autumn ripens in the summer’s ray. Nor less the warmer living tribes demand The fost’ring sun: whose energy divine Dwells not in mortal fire; whose generous heat 340 Glows thro’ the mass of grosser elements, And kindles into life the pond’rous spheres. Chear’d by thy kind invigorating warmth, We court thy beams, great majesty of day! If not the soul, the regent of this world, 345 First born of heaven, and only less than God! [Illustration] BOOK II. DIET. Enough of air. A desart subject now, Rougher and wilder, rises to my sight. A barren waste, where not a garland grows To bind the muse’s brow; not even a proud Stupendous solitude frowns o’er the heath, 5 To rouse a noble horror in the soul: But rugged paths fatigue, and error leads Thro’ endless labyrinths the devious feet. Farewel, etherial fields! the humbler arts Of life; the table and the homely Gods, 10 Demand my song. Elysian gales adieu!