As some enchanted isle mid stormy seas;
On thee no hostile footstep might intrude,
And pastoral sounds alone were on thy breeze.
Forsaken home of peace! that spell is broke:
Thou too hast heard the storm, and bow’d beneath the yoke.
LXIX.
And through Arcadia’s wild and lone retreats
Far other sounds have echo’d than the strain
Of faun and dryad, from their woodland seats,
Or ancient reed of peaceful mountain-swain!