 | My Mind and its Thoughts, in Sketches, Fragments, and Essays |  |
77
SONG.
WRITTEN AT “THE WOODLANDS,” THE SEAT OF WILLIAM HAMILTON, ESQ. UPON THE SCHUYLKILL.
“How sweet through the woodlands,” in spring's jocund hour,
To catch the first breeze which unfolds the wild flower.
Adown the green slopes the rich landscape survey,
Where Schuylkill prolongs his meandering way.
To catch the first breeze which unfolds the wild flower.
Adown the green slopes the rich landscape survey,
Where Schuylkill prolongs his meandering way.
More dear in that mansion's retreat from the plains,
While rapture in silent expression remains.
To rest where the arts and the virtues unite,
Without, all enchantment, within all delight.
While rapture in silent expression remains.
To rest where the arts and the virtues unite,
Without, all enchantment, within all delight.
Most welcome that face, so benignant in smiles,
That voice, which the care of the stranger beguiles.
Those graces, where genius combining the whole,
On the features of nature imprinted his soul.
That voice, which the care of the stranger beguiles.
Those graces, where genius combining the whole,
On the features of nature imprinted his soul.
All hail, ye fair scenes! and you, slow winding wave,
As unwilling to quit the fond banks that you lave.
Still heave your full bosom, where shining around,
The altar of taste is with tenderness crowned.
As unwilling to quit the fond banks that you lave.
Still heave your full bosom, where shining around,
The altar of taste is with tenderness crowned.
| My Mind and its Thoughts, in Sketches, Fragments, and Essays | |