I.
AS late I wander’d o’er the flow’ry plain,
Where Cambrian Cluyd pours his silver tide,
Amidst the pleasures of fair Plenty’s reign,
And blushing flow’rs and fruits on ev’ry side:
II.
Soft sigh’d the west winds, murm’ring o’er the dale,
Whose ev’ry charm rose fresher from the breeze;
The lofty hills more boldly kiss’d the gale,