But oh ! the free and wild magnificence 
Of Nature in her lavish hours doth steal, 
In admiration silent and intense, 
The soul of him who hath a soul to feel. 
The river moving on its ceaseless way, 
The verdant reach of meadows fair and green. 
And the blue hills that bound the sylvan scene, — 
These speak of grandeur, that defies decay,- — 
Proclaim the eternal architect on high. 
Who stamps on all his works his own eternity. 
Longfellow. 
