Excerpt from Bell's Classical Arrangement of Fugitive Poetry, Vol. 8

Silent and clear, through yonder peaceful vale,
While Marne's slow waters weave their mazy way.
See, to th' exulting sun, and fost'ring gale,
What boundless treasures his rich banks display!

Fast by the stream, and at the mountain's base,
The lowing herds through living pastures rove:
Wide-waving harvests crown the rising space:
And still superior nods the viny grove.

High on the top, as guardian of the scene,
Imperial Sylvan spreads his umbrage wide,
Nor wants there many a cot, and spire between.
Or in the vale, or on the mountain's side,

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