Awhile her magick strikes the novel eye,
Awhile the faery forms delight;
And now aloof we seem to fly
On purple pinions thro' a purer sky,
Where all is wonderous, all is bright:
Now landed on some spangled shore
Awhile each dazled maniac roves
By saphire lakes, thro' em'rald groves,
Paternal acres please no more;
Adieu the simple, the sincere delight —
Th' habitual scene of hill and dale,
The rural herds, the vernal gale,
The tangled vetch's purple bloom,
The fragrance of the bean's perfume,
Be theirs alone who cultivate the soil,
And drink the cup of thirst, and eat the bread of toil,