The negligently grand, the fruitful bloom[310]

Of coming ripeness, the white city's sheen,

The rolling stream, the precipice's gloom,

The forest's growth, and Gothic walls between,—

The wild rocks shaped, as they had turrets been,

In mockery of man's art; and these withal

A race of faces happy as the scene,

Whose fertile bounties here extend to all,

Still springing o'er thy banks, though Empires near them fall.