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Build me a shrine, and I could kneel To rural Gods, or prostrate fall; Did I not see, did I not feel. That One Great Spirit governs all. O Heaven, permit that I may lie Where o'er my corse green branches wave; And those who from life's tumults fly With kindred feelings press my grave.

E'en drunken Andrew felt the blow That innocence can give, When its resistless accents flow To bid affection live.

Remember the Viper:--'twas close at your feet, How you started and threw yourself into my arms; Not a strawberry there was so ripe nor so sweet As the lips which I kiss'd to subdue your alarms.

Strange to the world, he wore a bashful look, The fields his study, nature was his book.

When now, unsparing as the scourge of war, Blasts follow blasts and groves dismantled roar; Around their home the storm-pinched cattle lows, No nourishment in frozen pasture grows; Yet frozen pastures every morn resound With fair abundance thund'ring to the ground.