To one who has been long in city pent,

  'Tis very sweet to look into the fair

  And open face of heaven,---to breathe a prayer

Full in the smile of the blue firmament.

Who is more happy, when, with hearts content,

  Fatigued he sinke into some pleasant lair
  
  Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair

And gentle tale of love and languishment?

Returning home at evening, with an ear

  Catching the notes of Philomel,--- an eye

Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career,

  He mourns that day so soon has glided by:

E'en like the passage of an angel's tear

  That falls through the clear ether silently.