So radiantly beautiful, so like to heaven above,
We scarce can deem more fair that world of perfect bliss and love.
Anonymous.
Look now abroad—another race has fill'd
These populous borders—wide the wood recedes,
And towns shoot up, and fertile plains are till'd;
The land is full of harvests and green meads;
Streams numberless, that many a fountain feeds,
Shine, disembower'd, and give to sun and breeze
Their virgin waters; the full region leads