Vaucluse, ye hills and glades and shady vale,
So long the noble Tuscan bard's retreat,
When warm his heart for cruel Laura beat,
As lone he wandered in thy beauteous dale !
Ye flowers, which heard him oft his pains bewail
In tones of love and sorrow, sad, but sweet !
Ye dells and rocks, whose hollow sides repeat,
Even yet, his ancient passion's moving tale !
Fountain, which pourcst out thy waters green