Zephyrus and Flora: a Vision

As late I wander’d o’er the flow’ry plain, Where Cambrian Cluyd pours his silver tide, Amidst the pleasures of fair Plenty’s reign, And blushing flow’rs and fruits on ev’ry side:

Soft sigh’d the west winds, murm’ring o’er the dale, Whose ev’ry charm rose fresher from the breeze; The lofty hills more boldly kiss’d the gale, Which skimm’d their tops, and shook the wavy trees.

The sun descending, shot his golden beams Askance, with many a cloud his ev’ning throne Adorn’d; while mountains, woods, and lucent streams, With the last blushes of his radiance shone.

Far stretching hence, Cambria’s rough heights I view, Where Liberty long since forlorn retir’d, Left fairer climes, and skies of brighter hue, And, but at last, triumphantly expir’d:

And wide around me wound the fertile vale, Fit theme and subject of the poet’s song; Whose num’rous beauties load the passing gale, Whose breath repeats them, as it glides along.