V.
Then lead me near some winding stream,
Whose surface, ruffled by the breeze,
Reflects chaste Dian’s silver beam,
Faintly beheld thro’ shadowy trees:
Then as I view, with joy serene,
The beauties of this tranquil scene:
If contrast aid the pow’rs of rhyme,
To make the beautiful sublime—
Bid the hoarse thunder loudly roar,