Of his unrivall’d pencil. He inspires
Their balmy odours, and imparts their hues.
And bathes their eyes with nectar.
Happy who walks with him!” Cowper.
Come to the woods, my boy!
Come to the streams and bowery dingles forth,
My happy child! The spirit of bright hours
Woos us in every wind; fresh wild-leaf scents,
From thickets, where the lonely stock-dove broods,
Enter our lattice; fitful songs of joy