University of Virginia Library

No tyrant lord shall grasp a thousand farms,
Curse the mild clime, and spoil its fairest charms:
No blast severe your ripening fields deform,
No vollied hail-stones, and no driving storm:
No raging murrain on your cattle seize,
And nature sicken with the dire disease.
But golden years, anew, begin their reigns,
And cloudless sunshine gild salubrious plains.
Herbs, fruits and flow'rs shall clothe th' uncultur'd field,
Nectareous juice the vine and orchard yield;
Rich dulcet creams the copious goblets fill,
Delicious honey from the trees distil;
The garden smile, spontaneous harvests spring,
The vallies warble, and the woodlands ring.