A garden large, and hedges high,
O’er which an eagle scarce could fly;
Odorif’rous flowers of vari’d hue,
In ilka bord’ring walk we view.
Trees in full bloom, fruits excel,
When ripe, the rose’s fragrant smell;
The plains a pleasing prospect yield,
And plenty decks the fertile field.
Each beauteous arbour forms a shade,
As if for contemplation made.