From Albion fled, thy once beloved retreat,
What regions brighten in thy smile,
Creative PEACE! and underneath thy feet
See sudden flowers adorn the rugged soil?
In bleak Siberia blows,
Waked by thy genial breath, the balmy rose?
Waved over by thy magic wand,
Does life inform fell Lybia's burning sand?
Or does some isle thy parting flight detain,
Where roves the Indian through primaeval shades;
Haunts the pure pleasures of the sylvan reign,
And, led by Reason's light, the path of Nature treads?