Travelleth towards the land of heaven;
Over the silver mountains,
Where spring the nectar fountains;
There will I kiss
The bowl of bliss;
And drink mine everylasting fill
Upon every milken hill.
My soul will be a-dry bfore;
But, after, it will thirst no more.
Sir Walter Raleigh (1552-1618)
His Pilgrimage
Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass
Untouch'd, unbreathed upon.
William Wordsworth
The Trosachs
If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song,
May hope, chaste Eve, to sooth thy modest ear,
Like thy iwn solem springs,
Thy springs and dying gales;
O nymph reserved, while now the brigh-hair'd sun
Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts,
With brede ethereal wove,
O'erhang his wavy bed:
William Collins (1721-1759)
Ode to Evening
When I survey the bright
Celestial sphere;
So rich with jewels hung, that Night
Doth like an Ethiop bride appear:
My soul her wings doth spread
And heavenward flies,
Th' Almighty's mysteries to read
in the large volumes of the skies.
William Habington (1605-1654)
Nox Nocti Indicat Scientiam
Mine be a cot beside the hill;
A bee-hive's hum shall sooth my ear;
A willowy brook, that turns a mill,
With many a fall shall linger near.
Samuel Rogers (1763-1855)
A Wish
Taken through a binocular tube on the side of the road.
Awake, Æolian lyre, awake,
And give to rapture all thy trembling strings.
From Helicon's harmonious springs
A thousdand rills their mazy progress take:
Thomas Gray
A Pindaric Ode