 | Miscellanies (1785) |  |
All, Sympathy, is thine; th' Immortal strung,
For thee that more than golden harp the tongue:
The sphere's best music taught it to impart,
And bade each soft vibration strike the heart.
Thine too, the varied fruitage of the fields,
The clustering crops which yonder valley yields
That thymy down where feeds a thousand sheep,
This bower umbrageous, and yon cultur'd steep;
The still smooth joys that bloom o'er life's serene,
And all the bustle of its public scene.
For thee that more than golden harp the tongue:
The sphere's best music taught it to impart,
And bade each soft vibration strike the heart.
Thine too, the varied fruitage of the fields,
The clustering crops which yonder valley yields
That thymy down where feeds a thousand sheep,
This bower umbrageous, and yon cultur'd steep;
The still smooth joys that bloom o'er life's serene,
And all the bustle of its public scene.
| Miscellanies (1785) | |