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the European taste, and placed an urn on the summit, dedicated 

 to the naiad. One sultry morning, when enjoying the luxury of 

 shade, and listening to the falls of water, under this umbrageous 

 canopy, a few lines occurred, which I addressed to the nymph of 

 the fountain, and inscribed on the pedestal supporting the urn. 

 It requires an apology for introducing my first poetical essay to 

 the public eye, now transcribed from the manuscript letter; and 

 which my partial friends will not allow to be suppressed. 



Lines inscribed under an Urn in a Garden at Baroche, near a Spring over- 

 shadowed by a Burr, or Banian-tree, surrounded by flozvering Shrubs. 



To Medhumad'ha, a lovely nymph, 



The guardian of my spring; 

 To thee, this votive urn I raise, 

 Where hulbuls b sweetly sing. 



Thy gurgling, cool, pellucid stream 



Fair naiad, gently pour; 

 And murmuring softly from thy font, 



Awake each opening flower. 



Let spicy groves luxuriant rise 



Around this blest retreat, 

 And India c balmy zephyrs breathe 



On every peaceful seat. 



Let lofty champa's d graceful boughs 



Diffuse their fragrance far; 

 Al'hinna, e tulsee/ mogree,s sweet, 



Perfume the ambient air. 



