Classic Poem

Hark ! hear'st thou not the pipe of Faunus, sweeping,
In dulcet glee, through Thessaly's domain?
Dost thou not see embower'd wood-nymphs peeping
To watch the graces that around him reign;
While distant vintagers, and peasants reaping,
Stand in mute transport, listening to the strain;
And Pan himself, beneath a pine-tree sleeping,
Looks round, and smiles, and drops to sleep again?

O happy Greece! while thy blest sons were rovers
Through all the loveliness this earth discovers,
They in their minds a brighter region founded,
Haunted by gods and sylvans, nymphs and lovers,
Where forms of grace through sunny landscapes bounded,
By music and enchantment all surrounded.