MUSE that lov'st the lonely mountain,
Cliff abrupt, and rocky glen,
Rushy dell, and mossy fountain,
Free from strife, and far from men:
Muse that lov'st to worship Nature
In her haunts sublimely wild,
Hail the maid whose every feature
Speaks her Nature's darling child.
Nurs'd on Inspiration's bosom,
Dress'd by meek Simplicity,
She in youth's luxuriant blossom
Truth and Nature loves like thee.
Deck'd with chaste and artless graces,
While her form adorns the stage,
Fancy pleas'd recals the traces
Of a former, better age;
When the virgin's sweet suffusion,
Timid look, and modest air,
Gentle fears, and soft confusion,
Shrunk before the public stare.
'Tis not that thy tragic sister
Wraps her in her crimson stole,
Or that comic powers assist her,
While she fascinates the soul.
'Tis not that applausive thunder
Shakes the scene when she appears,
That she draws the gaze of wonder,
And unlocks the spring of tears:
'Tis not that capricious fashion
Hails her idol of the day;
But that general adulation
O'er her breast obtains no sway.
That the charities and duties
Which domestic life endear,
Add new lustre to her beauties,
Even in wisdom's view severe.
Lovely WALLIS , these are graces
That awake the Muse's flame;
And to these sequester'd places
Have convey'd thy honour'd name.
Pattern bright of filial duty,
Kindest sister, truest friend,
On thy innocence and beauty
Still may guardian sylphs attend!
Keep and wear this crimson blossom,
Place it near thy generous heart,
'Tis a charm that from thy bosom
Can repel detraction's dart.
On yon mountain's summit aerial,
Far above the clouds it grew,
Fann'd by purest gales ethereal,
Fed by bright celestial dew.
No voluptuous scents exhaling,
Deck'd with no luxurious dye,
Fiercest storms in vain assailing,
Blooming midst the wintry sky.
Type of virtue's wreaths victorious,
Flowering on the craggy height,
Those who mount with ardour glorious
Pay their labour with delight.