To a Village in Suffolk

[ZaunköniG]

To a Village in Suffolk
The residence of a friend

Blakenham! although thy boundet scenes among
No forests wave, no lofty hills arise,
Whence far-strech’d prospects meet the raptur’d eyes –
No winding sea-dasht shores to thee belong,

Skirted by wild and rocky solitudes,
“Sublimities that most delight the mind!”
Yet Blakenham, thy still meads where riv’lets wind,
Thy corn-fields waving ‘neath the rustling breeze,

And thy secluded copses – they are dear
To me; and when I go far, far away,
Full oft amid thy scenes will memory stray.

Ah! virtue, taste, refinement pure are here;
And these, when view’d by fond affection’s eye,
Give thee an interest – which shall never die!