With lightened heart he smiled serenely gay,
Like young Adonis, or the son of May.
Not Cytherea from a fairer swain
Received her apple on the Trojan plain.
IV. The Sun’s bright orb, declining all serene,
Now glanced obliquely o’er the woodland scene:
Creation smiles around; on every spray
The warbling birds exalt their evening lay:
Blithe skipping o’er yon hill, the fleecy train
Join the deep chorus of the lowing plain;