Rise upon ev’ry steep, and throng the glade 165
With a rich mass of varied light and shade.
I love the wildness of the far spread scene:
Now lost, now caught the golden checquer’d beam,
Dancing the mossy trunks and boughs amid,
And now in depths of thicker verdure hid; 170
Whilst the far rolling of the laden wain,
Rich in its autumn store of golden grain,
Or the faint sound of the revolving wheel
Through the low-sighing branches seems to steal