To crown the lay, the feather’d nations raise
Their notes with mine, to sound the Eternal’s praise;
While innocence inspires the sacred song,
Ten thousand throats the swelling theme prolong.
Amid these happy groves, see Eden shine,
Than Bourbons’ pompous gardens, more divine.
Fly the vile orchestra, where impious tongues
Soft warble vice in loose lascivious songs.
’Tis here, ’mid zephyrs’ mild and melting strains,
Lost Paradise her pristine bliss regains.”