Fancy! Nymph, that loves to lye
On the lonely Eminence,
Darting Notice thro’ the Eye,
Forming Thought, and feasting Sense, 
Thou! That must lend Imagination Wings, 
And stamp Distinction, on all wordly Things 
Come, and with thy various Hues, 
Paint and adorn thy Sister Muse
Now, while the Sun’s hot Coursers, bounding high; 
Shake Lustre, on the Earth, and burn along the Sky. 

Thou, aweful Grongar,
In whose mossy cells sweetly musing quiet dwells 
Thou aweful Grongar
Deep beneath whose shado’wy side
Oft my sick Mind serene Refreshment took
Near the cool winding of some bubbling brook
There have I pensive press’d the grassy Bed
Strayed my charm’d eyes o’er Towy’s wandering Tide 
Swift as a start of thought,
From Wood to mead Glancing from dark to bright from vale to hill. 

Widening beneath the Mountain’s bushy brow 
The unbounded landskip softens off below 
No skreeny vapours intervene
But the splendid scene 
Does nature’s smiling face all open show
In the mix’d glowings of the tinctur’d bow
And gently changing into soft and light,
Expands immensely wide and leads the journeying sight. 

White on the rugged cliffs old castles rise,
And shelter’d villages lie warm and low,
Close by the streams that at their bases flow. 
Each watery face bears pictur’d words and skies, 
Whereas the surface curls when breezes rise, 
Faint fairy Earthquakes tremble to the eyes. 
Up thro’ the Forest’s gloom distinguish’d bright 
Tops of high buildings catch the light. 

The quick’ning Sun a show’ry Radiance,
Sheds and lights up all the Mountain’s heads. 
Gilds the fair Fleeces of the distant flocks,
And glittering plays betwixt the broken rocks. 
Deep at its base, In Towy’s bordering Flood,
Its bristly sides are shagg’d with sullen wood. 
Thick round the ragged walls pale ivy creeps. 
Whose circling arms the nodding fabrick keeps, 
While both combine to check th’insulting wind. 
As friends in danger,
Mutual comfort find. 

Once a proud palace a seat of kings,
Now ’tis the raven’s bleak abode,
And shells in marbly damps the inbred toad. 
The prince’s tenure in his roofs of gold, 
Ends like the peasant’s homelier hold.
Life’s but a road,
And he who travels right,
Treats fortune as an Inn and rests his night. 

Here while on humble Earth unmark’d I lie,
I subject Heav’n and Nature to my eye.
Solid my joys and my free thoughts run high.
To sooth my ear those waters murmur deep.
To shade my eye these bowry Woodbines creep. 
Wanton to yield me sport these Birds fly low, 
And a sweet chase of Harmony bestow. 
Like me too yon sweet stream serenely glides,
Just views and quits the charms which tempt its sides. 
Calmly regardless hastening to the sea,
As I thro’ life shall reach Eternity.