Bright Phœbus sunk, dim twilight now succeeds, Still gleaming dubious with uncertain ray, While tremblingly among the vocal reeds The ev’ning breezes still more faintly play.
Amid this beauteous, soft, and flow’ry scene, On a high bank, all listless, I reclin’d; Whose shelving sides were crown’d with lively green, By tufted trees and bord’ring flow’rs confin’d.
Here, while the landscape faded on my sight, Wild Fancy’s eye still brighter scenes supply’d; I view’d not the last track of parting light, Nor mark’d the fanning breezes as they dy’d.
At length, Imagination, roving maid, Though gentle sleep had fetter’d all my pow’rs In golden chains, my busy soul convey’d To other landscapes and immortal bow’rs.
Methought I stood amidst a garden fair, Whose bounds no sight of mortal eye could trace, Situate mid-way, betwixt earth, seas, and air, Unmark’d by Time, uncircumscrib’d by Space.
Not half so sweet was that delightsome dale, Which to my waking view appear’d so bright; For _here_ did never-ceasing suns prevail, With mildest sweetness temp’ring heav’nly light.
Spring breath’d eternal glories o’er the land: And gentlest winds, o’er fragrant lawns that blow, Nurs’d beauteous buds unset by mortal hand, And op’ning flow’rs that without planting grow.
Serene the heav’ns, save where a cloudy shrine, Big with cœlestial plenty, sail’d on high, Show’r’d Spring’s own roses from her seat divine, And drew a purple radiance o’er the sky.
Meanwhile, soft music echoing from each grove, Tun’d to enchanting notes most soft and clear, That breath’d the soul of harmony and love, Thrill’d the rapt breast, and charm’d the list’ning ear.
And still the while, with voices loud and sweet, The warbling birds in dulcet concert join’d, The waters murm’ring flow with cadence meet, “Low answer’d by the gently whisp’ring wind.”
These themes of wonder silent I survey’d, Attentive hanging on each dying sound; Pleas’d with the glories which I saw display’d, And scenes of joy and pleasure op’ning round.
Yet still methought a certain want appear’d, Of some to own this spot, so heav’nly fair, Else were each charming flow’ret vainly rear’d, “To bloom unnotic’d to the desart air:”
Else, were in vain these soft melodious strains, Which the whole soul of harmony inspir’d, Pour’d to the wild woods and the lonely plains, Though worthiest still by all to be admir’d.