by William Jones

“ To warm the traveller numb'd with winter's cold;
The young to cherish, to support the old;
The sad to comfort, and the weak protect;
The poor to shelter, and the loft direct:—
These are her cares, and this her glorious task;
Can heaven a nobler give, or mortals ask?
Come to these groves, and these life-breathing glades,
Ye friendless orphans, and ye dowerless maids!
With eager haste your mournful mansions leave,
Ye weak, that tremble; and, ye sick, that grieve;
Here shall soft tents, o'er flowery lawns display'd,
At night defend you, and at noon o'ershade ”

“ See yon fair groves that o'er Amana rife,
And with their spicy breath embalm the skies;
Where every breeze sheds incense o'er the vales.
And every shrub the scent of musk exhales!
See through yon opening glade a glittering scene,
Lawns ever gay, and meadows ever green!
Then ask the groves, and ask the vocal bowers,
Who deck'd their spiry tops with blooming flowers.
Taught the blue stream o'er sandy vales to flow,
And the brown wild with liveliest hues to glow?
[*] Fair Solima! the hills and dales will sing ”