Where first the day comes, and where last retires,
Rejoicing seem; their light the mind inspires,
And thought, like morning, dawns.
The wild, yet artless breeze,
Now, in the ear of Nature, sings its song,
Wandering green fields and flowery banks among,
And over shadowy seas.
Soft falls the sunlight down
On the old castle that, above the dell,
Stands in its glory, lone, as if to tell