England


	ROM side to side of her delightful isle Is she not clothed with a perpetual smile? Can Nature add a charm, or Art confer, A new found luxury not seen in her? Her fields a rich expanse of wavy corn Poured out from Plenty's overflowing horn: Ambrosial gardens, in which art supplies The fervour and the force of Indian skies; Her peaceful shores, where busy Commerce waits To pour his golden tide through all her gates; Whom fiery suns that scorch the russet spice Of Eastern groves, and oceans floored with ice, Forbid in vain to push his daring way To darker climes, or climes of brighter day Whom the winds waft where'er the billows roll, From the world's girdle to the frozen pole; The chariots bounding in her wheel-worn streets; Her vaults below, where every vintage meets; Her theatres, her revels, and hot sports, The scenes to which not youth alone resorts, But age, in spite of weakness and of pain, Still haunts in hope to dream of youth again: All speak her happy:- let the Muse look round From east to west, no sorrow can be found. COWPER