How sweet to rove, from summer sun-beams veil'd,
        In gloomy dingles; or to trace the tide
        Of wandering brooks, their pebbly beds that chide;
        To feel the west-wind cool refreshment yield,
     That comes soft creeping o'er the flowery field,
        And shadow'd waters; in whose bushy side
        The Mountain-Bees their fragrant treasure hide
        Murmuring; and sings the lonely Thrush conceal'd! - 
     Then, Ceremony, in thy gilded halls,
        Where forc'd and frivolous the themes arise,
        With bow and smile unmeaning, O! how palls
     At thee, and thine, my sense! - how oft it sighs
        For leisure, wood-lanes, dells, and water-falls;
        And feels th' untemper'd heat of sultry skies!

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