That Loudoun castle rises to my view.
I see, or is it fancy that portrays?
The prospect stand before my ardent gaze:
Surpris’d I see a new Elysium rise,
In pomp august, before my wond’ring eyes.
With joy I view the sweetly, vari’d scene,
The winding vale, and groves of vernal green.
The garden will my fancy long detain,
And those fair fields that wave with yellow grain.
The blooming trees that form a sylvan shade,