Well nurtur'd in Pierian lore, On clear Ilissus' laureat shore.---- Till high on waving nest reclin'd, The raven wakes my tranced mind! Or to the forest-fringed vale Where widow'd turtles love to wail, Where cowslips clad in mantle meek, Nod their tall heads to breezes weak: In the midst, with sedges grey Crown'd, a scant riv'let winds its way, And trembling thro' the weedy wreaths, Around an oozy freshness breathes. O'er the solitary green, Nor cott, nor loitering hind is seen: Nor aught alarms the mute repose, Save that by fits an heifer lows: A scene might tempt some peaceful sage To rear him a lone hermitage; Fit place his pensive eld might chuse On virtue's holy lore to muse. Yet still the sultry noon t' appease Some more romantic scene might please; Or fairy bank, or magic lawn, By Spenser's lavish pencil drawn. Or bow'r in Vallambrosa's shade, By legendary pens pourtray'd. Haste let me shroud from painful light, On that hoar hill's aereal height, In solemn state, where waving wide, Thick pines with darkening umbrage hide The rugged vaults, and riven tow'rs Of that proud castle's painted bow'rs, Whence HARDYKNUTE, a baron bold, In Scotland's martial days of old, Descended from the stately feast, Begirt with many a warrior-guest, To quell the pride of Norway's king, With quiv'ring lance and twanging string. As thro' the caverns dim I wind, Might I that holy legend find, By fairies spelt in mystic rhimes, To teach enquiring later times, What open force, or secret guile, Dash'd into dust the solemn pile. But when mild Morn in saffron stole First issues from her eastern goal; Let not my due feet fail to climb Some breezy summit's brow sublime, Whence nature's universal face, Illumin'd smiles with new-born grace; The misty streams that wind below, With silver-sparkling lustre glow; The groves, and castled cliffs appear Invested all in radiance clear; O! every village-charm beneath! The smoke that mounts in azure wreath! O beauteous, rural interchange! The simple spire, and elmy grange! CONTENT, indulging blissful hours, Whistles o'er the fragrant flow'rs, And cattle rouz'd to pasture new, Shake jocund from their sides the dew. 'Tis thou, alone, O SUMMER mild, Canst bid me carol wood-notes wild: Whene'er I view thy genial scenes: Thy waving woods, embroider'd greens; What fires within my bosom wake, How glows my mind the reed to take! What charms like thine the muse can call, With whom 'tis youth and laughter all; With whom each field's a paradise, And all the globe a Bow'r of bliss! With thee conversing, all the day, I meditate my lightsome lay. These pedant cloisters let me leave, To breathe my votive song at eve,