And, o'er the cygnet's haunt, the mantling grove Its emerald arch with wild luxuriance wove. Light as the breeze that brush'd the orient dew, From rock to rock the young adventurer flew; 236 And day's laft funfhine flept along the fhore, When lo, a path the fmile of welcome wore. Imbowering shrubs with verdure veil'd the sky, And on the mufk-rofe fhed a deeper dye; Save when a mild and momentary gleam 240 Glanc'd from the white foam of fome fhelter'd ftream. O'er the still lake the bell of evening toll'd, And on the moor the fhepherd penn'd his fold ; And on the green hill's fide the meteor play'd; 245 When, hark! a voice fung fweetly thro' the fhade. It ceas'd-yet ftill in FLORIO's fancy fung, Still on each note his captive spirit hung; A crystal water cross'd the pebbled floor, And on the front these simple lines it bore: 250 FLORIO had gain'd a rude and rocky feat, When lo, the Genius of this ftill retreat! Fair was her form-but who can hope to trace 265 The pensive softness of her angel-face? Can VIRGIL'S verse, can RAPHAEL's touch impart Those finer features of the feeling heart, Those tend'rer tints that fhun the careless eye, And in the world's contagious climate die? 270 She left the cave, nor mark'd the stranger there; Her pastoral beauty, and her artless air, Had breath'd a foft enchantment o'er his foul! In every nerve he felt her blest controul ! What pure and white-wing'd agents of the sky, 275 Who rule the fprings of facred fympathy, Inform congenial spirits when they meet? Sweet is their office, as their nature sweet! FLORIO, with fearful joy, pursued the maid, Till thro' a vista's moonlight-checquer'd fhade; 280 Where the bat circled, and the rooks repos'd, (Their wars fufpended, and their counfels clos'd) An antique manfion burst in awful state, A rich vine clustering round its Gothic gate. Nor paus'd he there. The master of the scene 285 Saw his light step imprint the dewy green ; And, flow-advancing, hail'd him as his guest, Won by the honeft warmth his looks exprefs'd. He wore the ruftic manners of a 'Squire; Age had not quench'd one spark of manly fire; 290 But giant Gout had bound him in her chain, And his heart panted for the chase in vain. Yet here Remembrance, fweetly-foothing power! Wing'd with delight Confinement's lingering hour. The fox's brufh ftill emulous to wear, He scour'd the county in his elbow-chair; 295 And, with view-halloo, rous'd the dreaming hound, That rung, by ftarts, his deep-ton'd music round. Long by the paddock's humble pale confin'd, : His aged hunters cours'd the viewless wind And chas'd a line of heroes from the wall. 300 |