Not proud Olympus yields a nobler sight,
Though gods assembled grace his tow’ring height,
Than what more humble mountains offer here,
Where, in their blessings, all those gods appear.
See Pan, with flocks, with fruits Pomone crown’d;
There blushing Flora paints th’ enamel’d ground,
Here Ceres’ gifts in waving prospect stand,
And nodding tempt the joyful reaper’s hand;
Rich Industry sits smiling on the plains,
And peace and plenty tell a Stuart reigns.