As on a hill-top rude, when closing day Imbrowns the scene, some pastoral maiden fair Waters a lovely foreign plant with care, Borne from its native genial airs away, That scarcely can its tender bud display; So on my tongue these accents, new and rare, Are flowers exotic, which Love waters there. While thus, O sweetly scornful! I essay Thy praise in verse to British ears unknown, And Thames exchange for Arno's fair domain; So Love has willed, and ofttimes Love has shown That what he wills he never wills in vain. Oh that this hard and steril breast might be To Him, who plants from heaven, a soil as free! |