To gather herbs, and the fair race of flowers,
That Nature's hand creative pours at will,
Beauty unbounded, over Earth's green lap,
Gay without number, in the day of rain.
O'er vallies gay, o'er hillocks green she walk'd,

Sweet as the season; and at times awak'd
The echoes of the vale, with native notes
Of heart-felt joy, in numbers heav'nly sweet-
Sweet as the hosannahs of a form of light,
A sweet-tongued seraph in the bowers of bliss.

Her, as she halted on a green hill-top, A quiver'd hunter spied. Her flowing locks, In golden ringlets glittering to the sun, Upon her bosom play'd: her mantle green, Like thine, O Nature! to her rosy cheek Lent beauty new; as from the verdant leaf The rose-bud blushes with a deeper bloom, Amid the walks of May. The stranger's eye. Was caught as with ethereal presence. Oft He look'd to Heav'n, and oft he met her eye In all the silent eloquence of love ; Then, wak'd from wonder, with a smile began: Fair wanderer of the wood! what heav'nly pow'r, Or providence, conducts thy wandering steps To this wild forest, from thy native seat

And parents, happy in a child so fair?
A shepherdess, or virgin of the vale,

Thy dress bespeaks; but thy majestic mien,
And eye, bright as the morning star, confess
Superior birth and beauty, born to rule :
As from the stormy cloud of night, that veils
Her virgin orb, appears the queen of heav'n,
And with full beauty gilds the face of night.
Whom shall I call the fairest of her sex,

And charmer of my soul? In yonder vale,
Come, let us crop the roses of the brook,
And wildings of the wood: soft under shade
Let us recline by mossy fountain-side,
While the wood suffers in the beam of noon.
I'll bring my love the choice of all the shades;
First fruits; the apple ruddy from the rock;
And clustering nuts, that burnish in the beam.
O wilt thou bless my dwelling, and become
The owner of these fields? I'll give thee all
That I possess; and all thou see'st is mine.'

Thus spoke the youth, with rapture in his eye; And thus the maiden, with a blush, began: 'Beyond the shadow of these mountains green, Deep-bosom'd in the vale, a cottage stands, The dwelling of my sire, a peaceful swain;

Yet at his frugal board Health sits a guest,
And fair Contentment crowns his hoary hairs,
The patriarch of the plains: ne'er by his door
The needy pass'd, or the way-faring man.
His only daughter, and his only joy,

I feed my father's flock'; and, while they rest,
At times retiring, lose me in the wood,
Skill'd in the virtues of each secret herb
That opes its virgin bosom to the moon.
No flower amid the garden fairer grows
Than the sweet lily of the lowly vale,

The queen of flow'rs-But sooner might.the weed
That blooms and dies, the being of a day,
Presume to match with yonder mountain-oak,
That stands the tempest and the bolt of Heav'n, ́
From age to age
the monarch of the wood.
O! had you been a shepherd of the dale,
To feed your flock beside me, and to rest
With me at noon in these delightful shades,
I might have listen'd to the voice of love,
Nothing reluctant: might with you have walk'd
Whole summer suns away. At even-tide,
When heav'n and earth in all their glory shine
With the last smiles of the departing sun;

When the sweet breath of Summer feasts the sense,
And secret pleasure thrills the heart of man;

We might have walk'd alone, in converse sweet,
Along the quiet vale, and woo'd the moon
To hear the music of true lovers' vows;
But fate forbids; and fortune's potent frown,
And honour, inmate of the noble breast.
Ne'er can this hand in wedlock join with thine:
Cease, beauteous stranger! cease, belov'd youth!
To vex a heart that never can be yours.'

Thus spoke the maid, deceitful: but her eyes, Beyond the partial purpose of her tongue, Persuasion gain'd. The deep-enamour'd youth Stood gazing on her charms, and all his soul Was lost in love. He grasp'd her trembling hand, And breath'd the softest, the sincèrest vows Of love: O virgin! fairest of the fair! My one belov'd! were the Scottish throne To me transmitted through a scepter'd line Of ancestors, thou, thou should'st be my queen, And Caledonia's diadems adorn

A fairer head than ever wore a crown!'

She redden'd like the morning, under veil Of her own golden hair. The woods among They wander'd up and down with fond delay, Nor mark'd the fall of ev'ning: parted, then, The happiest pair on whom the sun declin'd.

Next day he found her on a flowery bank, Half under shade of willows, by a spring, The mirror of the swains, that o'er the meads Slow-winding, scatter'd flow'rets in its way. Through many a winding walk and alley green, She led him to her garden. Wonder-struck, He gaz'd, all eye, o'er th' enchanting scene: And much he prais'd the walks, the groves, the flow'rs, Her beautiful creation; much he prais'd

The beautiful creatress; and awak'd

The echo in her praise. Like the first pair,
Adam and Eve, in Eden's blissful bow'rs,
When newly come from their Creator's hand,
Our lovers liv'd in joy. Here, day by day,
In fond endearments, in embraces sweet,
That lovers only know, they liv'd, they lov'd,
And found the paradise that Adam lost.
Nor did the virgin, with false modest pride,
Retard the nuptial morn: she fix'd the day
That bless'd the youth, and open'd to his eyes
An age of gold, the heav'n of happiness
That lovers in their lucid moments dream.

And now the morning, like a rosy bride
Adorn'd on her day, put on her robes,
Her beauteous robes of light; the naiad streams,
Sweet as the cadence of a poet's song,