Is there delight in Nature's solitudes,

Her dark green woods, and fragrant wilderness,

In scenes, where seldom human step intrudes,

And she is in her wildest, loveliest dress?

Is there delight in her uncultured flowers,

Each ripened bloom or bright unfolding dye,

Or in the tribes which animate her bowers,

And through her groves in living beauty fly?

Then, on thy canvas as they move and live,

While taste and genius guide the fair design,

And all the charms which Nature's works can give

With equal radiance in thy colours shine;

Amidst the praise thy country's sons extend,

The stranger's voice its warm applause shall blend.