Sometimes sad, and sometimes gay, Like careless pilgrim still I stray, Till soon arriv'd at Hagley bower, I sigh to linger there an hour; Where Littleton in learned ease Polish'd his verse, and prun'd his trees; Where Pope, the tuneful groves among, Soft as at Twickenham, pour'd the song; And Thomson fix'd in colours clear The changeful seasons of the year. Hail classic scenes! The willing muse Her flowers of many-mingling hues Might here entwine, and once again Hagley bloom forth in cheerful strain.
