XXIV.

"Where now the rill, melodious, pure, and cool, And meads, with life, and mirth, and beauty crown'd! Ah! see, th' unsightly slime and sluggish pool Have all the solitary vale imbrown'd; Fled each fair form, and mute each melting sound, The raven croaks forlorn on naked spray: And, hark! the river, bursting every mound, Down the vale thunders, and with wasteful sway Uproots the grove, and rolls the shatter'd rocks away.