And loving nought but her!
Where claims the eye to rest?
Earth has a balmy look, and so has Heaven;
And thoughts, like mazy clouds through ether driven,
Float in th' enraptured breast.
The sylvan haunts, where youth
Roams, fancy led, all glorious in their hue;
The quaint sequestered spots and paths we view,
Where Age consorts with Truth.
Read we of aught that wakes