Murmured deep a solemn sound:
Till the sad Nine, in Greece’s evil hour,
Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains.
Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power,
And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. 80
When Latium had her lofty spirit lost,
They sought, O Albion, next thy sea-encircled coast.
Far from the sun and summer-gale,
In thy green lap was Nature’s darling laid,
What time, where lucid Avon strayed, 85