To Him, who in such loveliness arrayed 285
Those charms of thine, which guilt alone could fade;
And, e’er thy sin-bought doom of change began,
Saw thou wert good, and gave the boon to man!
By the green margin of that fairy lake,
List!—for the lark’s wild music is awake, 290
And the low murmur of the ring-dove’s note
Steals musically, from her shade remote;
The willow-spray upon the calm wave sleeps,
The gilded trout from its still mirror leaps;