These founts and rivulets, whose mingling sound
Lulls every bosom to serene delight;
Soft on these hills the sun’s declining ray;
This clime, where all is new; these murmuring seas;
Flocks, to the fold that bend their lingering way;
Light clouds, contending with the genial breeze;
And all that Nature’s lavish hands dispense,
In gay luxuriance, charming every sense,
Ne’er in thy absence can delight my breast:
Nought, without thee, my weary soul beguiles: