In such a night, when passing clouds give place,
Or thinly vail the Heav’ns mysterious face;
When in some river, overhung with green,
The waving moon and trembling leaves are seen;
When freshen’d grass now bears itself upright,
And makes cool banks to pleasing rest invite,
Whence springs the woodbind, and the bramble-rose,
And where the sleepy cowslip shelter’d grows;
Whilst now a paler hue the foxglove takes,
Yet checquers still with red the dusky brakes: