'Ye brown o'er-arching groves,
'That Contemplation loves,
'Where willowy Camus lingers with delight!
'Oft at the blush of dawn
'I trod your level lawn,
'Oft wooed the gleam of Cynthia silver-bright
'In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of Folly,
'With Freedom by my side, and soft-eyed Melancholy. '