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"O, pleasant is thy task and high In radiant warmth to roam the sky, To keep from ill that kindly ground, Its meads and farms, where mead is found, A land whose commons live content, Where each man's lot is excellent, Where hosts to hail thee shall upstand, Where lads are bold and lasses bland, A land I oft from hill that's high Have gazed upon with raptur'd eye; Where maids are trained in virtue's school, Where duteous wives spin dainty wool; A country with each gift supplied, Confronting Cornwall's cliffs of pride."
To higher Grounds, the raptur'd View extends, Whilst in the Cloud-top'd Cliffs the Landscape ends Fair Scenes! to which should Angels turn their Sight, Angels might stand astonished with Delight Majestic Grove in ev'ry View arise And greet with Wonder the Beholders' Eyes.
"Yet, though through life is lost each fond delight, Though set thy earthly sun in dreary night, Oh! raise thy thoughts to yonder starry plain, And own thy sorrow selfish, weak, and vain: Since, while Britannia, to his virtues just, Twines the bright wreath, and rears th' immortal bust; While on each wind of heaven his fame shall rise, In endless incense to the smiling skies; The attendant Power, that bade his sails expand, And waft her blessings to each barren land, Now raptur'd bears him to th' immortal plains, Where Mercy hails him with congenial strains; Where soars, on Joy's white plume, his spirit free, And angels choir him, while he waits for Thee."
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