Nor pale disease, nor health-consuming care,
Nor wrath, nor foul revenge can enter there;
No vapour's foggy gloom imbrowns the sky;
No tempests rage, no angry lightnings fly;
But dews, and soft-refreshing airs are found,
And pure aetherial azure shines around.
Whate'er the sweet Sabaean soil can boast,
Or Mecca's plains, or India's spicy coast;
What Hybla's hills, or rich Oebalia's fields,
Or flow'ry vale of fam'd Hymettus yields;
Or what of old th' Hesperian orchard grac'd;
All that was e'er delicious to the taste,
Sweet to the smell, or lovely to the view,
Collected there with added beauty grew.
High-tow'ring to the heav'ns the trees are seen,
Their bulk immense, their leaf for ever green;
So closely interwove, the tell-tale sun
Can ne'er descry the deeds beneath them done,
But where by fits the sportive gales divide
Their tender tops, and fan the leaves aside.
Like a smooth carpet at their feet lies spread
The matted grass, by bubbling fountains fed;
And on each bough the feather'd choir employ
Their melting notes, and nought is heard but joy.
The painted flow'rs exhale a rich perfume,
The fruits are mingled with eternal bloom,
And Spring and Autumn hand in hand appear,
Lead on the merry months, and join to cloath the year.
Here, o'er the mountain's shaggy summit pour'd,
From rock to rock the tumbling torrent roar'd,
While beauteous Iris in the vale below
Paints on the rising fumes her radiant bow.
Now through the meads the mazy current stray'd,
Now hid its wand'rings in the myrtle shade;
Or in a thousand veins divides its store,
Visits each plant, refreshes ev'ry flow'r;
O'er gems and golden sands in murmurs flows,
And sweetly soothes the soul, and lulls to soft repose.