Ii

Turn, O return! In merry England Foster'd thou wert with infant Liberty. Her gloried oaks, that stand With trembling leaves and giant heart Drinking in beauty from the summer moon, Her wild-wood once was dear to thee.

There the birds with tiny art Earth's immemorial cradle-tune Warble at dawn to fern and fawn, In the budding thickets making merry; And for their love the primrose faint Floods the green shade with youthful scent.

Come, thy jocund spring renew By hyacinthine lakes of blue: Thy beauty shall enchant the buxom May; And all the summer months shall strew thy way, And rose and honeysuckle rear Their flowery screens, till under fruit and berry The tall brake groweth golden with the year.