This charms to peace each sullen eastern storm,
And that unlocks the summer's copious store.
'Vain hope, no more in choral bands unite
Her virgin vot'ries, and at early dawn,
Sacred to May and Love's mysterious rite,
Brush the light dewdrops[26] from the spangled lawn.
'To her no more Augusta's[27] wealthy pride
Pours the full tribute of Potosi's mine;
Nor fresh-blown garlands village maids provide,
A purer off'ring at her rustic shrine.