Where each old poetic mountain

Inspiration breath'd around; Ev'ry shade and hallow'd fountain

Murmur'd deep a solemn sound:

Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour,
Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains.
Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power,
And coward Vice, that revels in her chains.

When Latium had her lofty spirit lost,

They sought, oh Albion ! next thy sea-encircled coast.

III. I.

Far from the sun and summer-gale,

In thy green lap was Nature's Darling laid,
What time, where lucid Avon stray'd,

To him the mighty mother did unveil

Her awful face: the dauntless child

Stretch'd forth his little arms and smiled.

"This pencil take (she said), whose colours clear

Richly paint the vernal year :

Thine too these golden keys, immortal Boy!

This can unlock the gates of joy ;