"Oh! ye delicious fables, where the wave,
And wood, were peopled; and the air, with things
So lovely—why, ah! why has science grave
Scattered afar your secret imaginings?
Why seared the delicate flowers that genius gave,
And dash the diamond drops from fancy's wings.
Alas! the spirit languishes and lies
At mercy of life's dull realities.
"No more by well or bubbling fountain clear
The Naiad dries her tresses in the sun,