L.

Here in the sultriest season let him rest, Fresh is the green beneath those aged trees; Here winds of gentlest wing will fan his breast,[fa] From Heaven itself he may inhale the breeze: The plain is far beneath--oh! let him seize Pure pleasure while he can; the scorching ray Here pierceth not, impregnate with disease: Then let his length the loitering pilgrim lay, And gaze, untired, the Morn--the Noon--the Eve away.