O'er all appear'd the mountain's forked brows
With terrasses on terrasses up-thrown;
And all along arrang'd in order'd rows,
And visto's broad, the velvet slopes adown
The ever-verdant trees of  shone.
But aliens to the clime, and brought of old
From  plains, and
They shrunk and languish'd in a foreign mold,
By changeful summers starv'd, and pinch'd by winter's cold.