Far from the sun and summer-gale, / In thy green lap was Nature's darling laid.

The meanest flowret of the vale, / The simplest note that swells the gale, / The common sun, the air, and skies, / To him are opening paradise.

In climes beyond the solar road.

Who foremost now delight to cleave / With pliant arm thy glassy wave?

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife

Brushing with hasty steps the dews away / To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.