James Beattie

Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down;
Where a green grassy turf is all I crave,
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Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down;
Where a green grassy turf is all I crave,
With here and there a violet bestrown,
Fast by a brook or fountain's murmuring wave;
And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave.

At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
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At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove.

And, lo! in the dark east, expanded high,
The rainbow brightens to the setting Sun.

And, lo! in the dark east, expanded high,
The rainbow brightens to the setting Sun.

Rocks, torrents, gulfs, and shapes of giant size
And glitt'ring cliff on cliffs, and fiery ramparts rise.

Rocks, torrents, gulfs, and shapes of giant size
And glitt'ring cliff on cliffs, and fiery ramparts rise.

I dare not hope to please a Cinna's ear.
Or sing what Varus might vouchsafe to hear;
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I dare not hope to please a Cinna's ear.
Or sing what Varus might vouchsafe to hear;
Harsh are the sweetest lays that I can bring,
So screams a goose where swans melodious sing.