My[285] Soul was grateful for delight
That wore a threatening brow;
A veil is lifted—can she slight
The scene that opens now?
Though habitation none appear,[CY]
The greenness tells, man must be there;[286]
The shelter—that the pérspective
Is of the clime[287] in which we live;
Where Toil pursues his daily round;
Where Pity sheds sweet tears[288]—and Love,