177r [=137r]
Facsimile
Transcription
Status: Complete
177 190
When sought by Him who now shall share,
The sweet regret these Scenes impart.
How often slow we wander'd where,
Proud Nature scorns the aid of Art.
Leaving her cultivated Fields.... Along
The Sea beat shores we took our way,
Shores which to [Victors?] cave belong,
And where at Eve the Sea Nymphs play.
Where Fancy blows the tuneful shell,
And bids the gently whispering Breeze
In strains of wildest Music swell
With more than Mortal melodies.
These raise on high th'exulting Mind
Towards Heav'n she wings her rapid flight
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