HERE often thro' the gloomy Woods I rove,
Pleas'd with the silent Horror of the Grove.
And now the Lawn, and winding Walks delight;
And now the  Turret charms my Sight:
Here conic Firs in graceful Order stand;
Tall Cedars there, the Growth of  Land.
Lead me, ye sacred DRYADS! leads me thro'
Your sylvan Scenes, where future Navies grow;
Where lofty Oaks their branching Arms extend,
And tow'ring Pines to kiss the Clouds ascend;
Where op'ning Glades admit the sunny Ray,
Or venerable Groves exclude the Day.
There let me Knaves, and Fools, and Fops despise,
And think of Actions worthy of the Wise.