With thee I’ll climb the steepy lawn,
With thee the leafy labyrinths trace,
Where dwells the Genius of the place.—
His large limbs press a prim-rose bed,
A moss-grown root sustains his head,
And, list’ning to a Druid’s rhimes,
He bends his eye on distant times:
While troops of sylvan Vassals meet
To cast their garlands at his feet,
And pipe and frisk in rings about,