And op’ning flow’rs that without planting grow.
XIII.
Serene the heav’ns, save where a cloudy shrine,
Big with cœlestial plenty, sail’d on high,
Show’r’d Spring’s own roses from her seat divine,
And drew a purple radiance o’er the sky.
XIV.
Meanwhile, soft music echoing from each grove,
Tun’d to enchanting notes most soft and clear,
That breath’d the soul of harmony and love,