Rolling on orient pearl and sands of gold, With mazy error under pendent shades Ran nectar, visiting each plant, and fed Flowers worthy of Paradise; which not nice art In beds and curious knots, but nature boon Poured forth profuse on hill, and dale, and plain; Both where the morning sun first warmly smote The open field, and where the unpierced shade Imbrowned the noontide bowers. Thus was this place A happy rural seat of various view: Groves whose rich trees wept odorous gums and balm; Others, whose fruit, burnished with golden rind, Hung amiable, Hesperian fables true, If true, here only, and of delicious taste. Betwixt them lawns, or level downs, and flocks Grazing the tender herb, were interposed; Or palmy hillock, or the flowery lap Of some irriguous valley spread her store; Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose. Another side, umbrageous grots and caves Of cool recess, o’er which the mantling vine Lays forth her purple grape, and gently creeps Luxuriant: meanwhile murmuring waters fall Down the slope hills, dispersed, or in a lake,