The lost! the lovely! who in better days
View’d their each grace reflected in thy lays;
And O! when many a future Age has pass’d,
Rolling oblivious o’er his nameless Waste,
Its sometime beauties shall again revive,
And in thy pictur’d strains for EVER live.
Come, pensive listening, ye once jocund Throng,
Whilome that rov’d those forest-haunts along;
Explor’d, with pleasure brightening in your air,
Each coy, green labyrinth and each turfy lair,