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(From The Dispensary)
DIM he discerns majestic Atlas rise, | |
| And bend beneath the burden of the skies,— | |
| His towering brows aloft no tempests know, | |
| Whilst lightning flies and thunder rolls below. | |
| Distant from hence, beyond a waste of plains, | 5 |
| Proud Teneriffe, his giant brother, reigns: | |
| With breathing fire his pitchy nostrils glow, | |
| As from his sides he shakes the fleecy snow. | |
| Around this hoary prince, from watery beds, | |
| His subject islands raise their verdant heads; | 10 |
| The waves so gently wash each rising hill, | |
| The land seems floating,—and the ocean, still. | |
| Eternal spring, with smiling verdure, here | |
| Warms the mild air, and crowns the youthful year; | |
| From crystal rocks transparent riv’lets flow; | 15 |
| The tuberose ever breathes, and violets blow; | |
| The vine, undressed, her swelling clusters bears; | |
| The laboring hind the mellow olive cheers; | |
| Blossoms and fruit, at once, the citron shows, | |
| And, as she pays, discovers still she owes; | 20 |
| The orange to her sun her pride displays, | |
| And gilds her fragrant apples with his rays; | |
| No blasts e’er discompose the peaceful sky, | |
| The springs but murmur, and the winds but sigh: | |
| The tuneful swans on gliding rivers float, | 25 |
| And, warbling dirges, die on every note: | |
| Where Flora treads, her zephyr garlands flings, | |
| And scatters odors from his purple wings, | |
| Whilst birds, from woodbine bowers and jasmine groves, | |
| Chant their glad nuptials and unenvied loves. | 30 |
| Mild seasons, rising hills, and silent dales, | |
| Cool grottos, silver brooks, and flowery vales, | |
| Groves filled with balmy shrubs, in pomp appear, | |
| And scent with gales of sweets the circling year. | |
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