 | Malvern Hills |  |
267
SONNET V. LEIGH WOODS.
EDWIN! how sweet a solace might'st thou find,When the fierce dog-star darts his scorching beam,
In contemplation's not unholy dream,
Beneath Leigh's antique wood to lie reclined!
There would the cheerful linnet wing its way,
To seek thy lone retreat, and pour on high
Unlabour'd strains of softest melody,
Gladdening with song the sultry hours of day:
There might'st thou breathe the balmy breath of thyme,
Or scatter'd wild flower, from yon sunny vale,
Wafted unceasing by each random gale,
While Vincent's rude majestic heights were thine:
Ah, no! methinks I hear thee fondly say
Not Tempé's self would please, were Rosalind away.
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