Delightful PEN-Y-VALE! Nor shall
Great MALVERN'S high imperious call
Wean me from thee, or turn aside
My earliest charm, my heart's strong pride.

Boast MALVERN, that thy springs revive
The drooping patient, scarce alive;
Where, as he gathers strength to toil,
Not e'en thy heights his spirit foil,
But nerve him on to bless, t'inhale,
And triumph in the morning gale;
Or noon's transcendent glories give
The vigorous touch that bids him live.
Perhaps e'en now he stops to breathe,
Surveying the expanse beneath?
Now climbs again, where keen winds blow.
And holds his beaver to his brow;
Waves to the _Wrecken_ his white hand,
And, borrowing Fancy's magic wand,
Skims over WORC'STER'S spires away,
Where sprung the blush of rising day;
And eyes, with joy, sweet _Hagley Groves_,
That taste reveres and virtue loves;
And stretch'd upon thy utmost ridge,
Marks Severn's course, and UPTON-bridge,
That leads to home, to friends, or wife,
And all thy sweets, domestic life;
He drops the tear, his bosom glows,
That consecrated _Avon_ flows
Down the blue distant vale, to yield