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| HAIL, sweet retirement, hail! | |
| Best state of man below, | |
| To smooth the tide of passions frail, | |
| And bear the soul away from scenery of wo. | |
| When, retired from busy noise, | 5 |
| Vexing cares and troubled joys, | |
| To a mild serener air, | |
| In the country we repair: | |
| Calm enjoy the rural scene, | |
| Sportive o’er the meadows green: | 10 |
| When the sun’s enlivening ray | |
| Speaks the genial month of May, | |
| Lo! his amorous, wanton beams | |
| Dance on yonder crystal streams; | |
| In soft dalliance pass the hours, | 15 |
| Kissing dew-drops from the flowers, | |
| While soft music through the grove, | |
| Sweetly tunes the soul to love. | |
| And the hills harmonious round | |
| Echo with responsive sound; | 20 |
| There the turtle-dove alone, | |
| Makes his soft, melodious moan; | |
| While from yonder bough ’t is heard, | |
| Sweetly chirps the yellow-bird: | |
| There the linnet’s downy throat | 25 |
| Warbles the responsive note; | |
| And to all the neighboring groves, | |
| Robin Redbreast tells his loves. | |
| There, Amanda, we might walk, | |
| And of soft endearments talk; | 30 |
| Or anon we ’d listen, love, | |
| To the gently-cooing dove. | |
| In some sweet, embowering shade, | |
| Some fair seat by nature made, | |
| I my love would gently place, | 35 |
| On the tender woven grass: | |
| Seated by thy lovely side, | |
| Oh, how great would be my pride! | |
| While my soul should fix on thine, | |
| Oh the joy to call thee mine! | 40 |
| For why should doves have more delight, | |
| Than we, my sweet Amanda, might? | |
| And why should larks and linnets be | |
| More happy, lovely maid, than we? | |
| There the pride of genius blooms, | 45 |
| There sweet contemplation comes: | |
| There is science, heavenly fair, | |
| Sweet philosophy is there; | |
| With each author valued most, | |
| Ancient glory, modern boast. | 50 |
| There the mind may revel o’er | |
| Doughty deeds of days of yore; | |
| How the mighty warriors stood, | |
| How the field was dyed in blood, | |
| How the shores were heap’d with dead, | 55 |
| And the rivers stream’d with red; | |
| While the heroes’ souls on flame, | |
| Urged them on to deathless fame. | |
| Or we view a different age | |
| Pictured in the historic page— | 60 |
| Kings, descending from a throne; | |
| Tyrants, making kingdoms groan, | |
| With each care to state allied, | |
| And all the scenery of pride. | |
| Or perhaps we ’ll study o’er | 65 |
| Books of philosophic lore; | |
| Read what Socrates has thought, | |
| And how godlike Plato wrote; | |
| View the earth with Bacon’s eyes; | |
| Or, with Newton, read the skies; | 70 |
| See each planetary ball, | |
| One great sun attracting all: | |
| All by gravitation held, | |
| Self-attracted, self-repelled: | |
| We shall cheat away old time, | 75 |
| Passing moments so sublime. | |
| Hail, sweet retirement, hail! | |
| Best state of man below, | |
| To smooth the tide of passions frail, | |
| And bear the soul away from scenery of wo. | 80 |
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