Where thou, bright Avon! lead'st thy waves along
To scenes renown'd for Shakespeare's wondrous song,
While roves the Muse, propitious nymph, attend,
And all thy softness to my numbers lend;
She pants to wear no sweeter wreath than springs
On the green margin of the stream she sings;
In the bless'd verse should thy perfections meet,
Thy scenes so vivid, and thy flow so sweet,
Through Fame's wide fields I'd make thy glories shine
And mix the waves of Helicon with thine.

Come firiend to learned ease, whate'er thy name,
Whose centure's candid, though thy praise is fame,
Who life's short journey walking wisely gay,
Slight'st not the hand that smooths the rugged way;
Thee, with thy social train, I dare invite,
To trace together Avon's various flight.