Erase th’ accusing blot with just applause, 185
Nor spare a lance to skirmish in thy cause!
Oh! say not health avoids this balmy gale,
Or flies the pathway down that dewy vale!
Skim o’er the plain! thread the wide mazy heath,
Bright with her smile, and fragrant with her breath! 190
Doubt the dry slander of the technic sage,
And, closing his, read Nature’s gentler page!
Come with me where, o’er blythe and fertile meads,
My step untired the mould’ring abbey[[3]] leads;