Fir’d at the sound, my genius spreads her wing,
And flies where Britain courts the western spring,
Where lawns extend that scorn Arcadian pride,
And brighter streams than fam’d Hydaspes glide. 320
There all around the gentlest breezes stray,
There gentle music melts on every spray;
Creation’s mildest charms are there combin’d:
Extremes are only in the master’s mind!
Stern o’er each bosom reason holds her state, 325
With daring aims irregularly great;