ODE VIII.
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ODE VIII.
On leaving Holland.
ADIEU to Leyden's lonely bound,
The Belgian Muse's sober seat;
Where shedding frugal gifts around
On all the fav'rites at her feet,
She feeds the body's bulky frame
For passive, persevering toils;
And lest, for some ambitious aim,
The daring mind should scorn her homely spoils,
She breathes maternal foggs to damp its restless flame.
Adieu the grave, pacific air,
Safe from the flitting mountain-breeze;
The marshy levels lank and bare,
Sacred from furrows, hills, or trees:
Adieu
