And on the bosom of the spring
Breathes out her sweet perfumes,
While for Britannia's distant shore
We sweep the liquid plain,
And with astonished eyes explore
The wide extended main.
Lo! Health appears, celestial Dame!
Complacent and serene,
With Hebe's mantle o'er her frame,
With soul-delighting mein.
To mark the vale where London lies,
With misty vapors crowned,
Which cloud Aurora's thousand dyes,
And veil her charms around,
Why, Phœbus, moves thy car so slow?
So slow thy rising ray?
Give us the famous town to view,
Thou glorious king of day!
For thee, Britannia, I resign
New-England's smiling fields;
To view again her charms divine,
What joy the prospect yields!
But thou, Temptation, hence away!
With all thy fatal train,
Nor once seduce my soul away,
By thine enchanting strain.
