Come , thou Queen of pensive air,
In thy sable, sooted car,
By two mournful turtles drawn —
Let me meet thee on yon lawn,
With decent vestments wrapt around,
And thy brows with cypress bound !
Quickly come, thou sober dame,
And thy musing Poet claim.
Bear me, where thou lov'st to rove,
In the deep, dark, solemn grove ;
Where, on banks of velvet green,
Peace , with Silence , still is seen ;
And Leisure , at the sultry noon,
On flowry carpet flings him down —
There, sweet Queen ! I'll sing thy pleasures
In euthusiastic measures,
And sound thy praise thro' the lone vale,
Responsive to the hollow gale ;
The murm'ring rills shall spread it round,
And grottoes the wild notes rebound. — —