Sweet upland, to whose walks with fond repair Out of thy western slope I took my rise Day after day, and on these feverish eyes Met the moist fingers of the bathing air, -- If health, unearned of thee, I may not share, Keep it, I pray thee, where my memory lies, In thy green lanes, brown dells, and breezy skies, Till I return, and find thee doubly fair. Wait then my coming, on that lightsome land, Health, and the joy that out of nature springs, And freedom's air-blown locks: -- but stay with me, Friendship, frank entering with the cordial hand, And honor, and the Muse with growing wings, And love domestic, smiling equably. |