What though while the wonders of nature exploring,     I cannot your light, mazy footsteps attend; Nor listen to accents, that almost adoring,     Bless Cynthia’s face, the enthusiast’s friend: Yet over the steep, whence the mountain stream rushes,     With you, kindest friends, in idea I rove; Mark the clear tumbling crystal, its passionate gushes,     Its spray that the wild flower kindly bedews. Why linger you so, the...