Fragment (Oh! for the temperate airs that blow)

*****Oh! for the temperate airs that blowUpon that darling of the sea,Where neither sunshine, rain, nor snow,For three days hold supremacy;But ever-varying skies contendThe blessings of all climes to lend,To make that tiny, wave-rocked isle,In never-fading beauty smile.England, oh England! for the breezeThat slowly stirs thy forest-trees!Thy ferny brooks, thy mossy fountains,Thy beechen woods, thy heathery mountains,Thy lawny uplands, where the shadowOf many a giant oak is sleeping;The tangled copse, the sunny meadow,Through which the summer rills run weeping.Oh, land of flowers! while sinking hereBeneath the dog-star of the West,The music of the waves I hearThat cradle thee upon their breast.Fresh o'er thy rippling corn-fields flyThe wild-winged breezes of the sea,While from thy smiling, summer sky,The ripening sun looks tenderly.And thou—to whom through all this heatMy parboiled thoughts will fondly turn,Oh! in what "shady blest retreat"Art thou ensconced, while here I burn?Across the lawn, in the deep glade,Where hand in hand we oft have strayed,Or communed sweetly, side by side,Hear'st thou the chiming ocean tide,As gently on the pebbly beachIt lays its head, then ebbs away,Or round the rocks, with nearer reach,Throws up a cloud of silvery spray?Or to the firry woods, that shedTheir spicy odours to the sun,Goest thou with meditative tread,Thinking of all things that are doneBeneath the sky?—a great, big thought,Of which I know you're very fond.For me, my mind is solely wroughtTo this one wish: O! in a pondWould I were over head and ears!(Of a cold ducking I've no fears)Or any where, where I am not;For, bless the heat! it is too hot!