DELIGHTED, often thro' the mazy Groves,
The Muse, in pensive Contemplation, roves;
Or climbs the slow ascending Hill, whose Brow
Hangs o'er the silver Stream, which rolls below;
Where all around me shining Prospects rise,
And various Scenes invite my gazing Eyes;
And, while I view one Object with Delight,
New pleasing Wonders charm the feasted Sight:
Now this allures, now that attracts it most;
And the first Beauty's in the second lost.