Or brighter dreams to fancy bring?
Amid a scene so rich and fair
How does my spirit long to dwell,
And quit the world, with all its care,
And bid its noisy haunts farewell.
My heart was never framed to toil
With Commerce on his crowded mart,
From his rough tasks my thoughts recoil,
But, oh! they love the poets’ art.
How sweet to me the woodland glade,