text:  There all thy gifts and graces we display Thou only thou directing all our way! To where the Seine obsequious as she runs Pours at great Bourbon's feet her silken sons; Or Tiber now no longer Roman rolls Vain of Italian arts Italian souls: To happy convents bosom'd deep in vines Where slumber abbots purple as their wines; To isles of fragrance lily silver'd vales Diffusing languor in the panting gales: To lands of singing or of dancing slaves Love-whisp'ring woods and lute-resounding waves