m\ 
that spirit’s wealth we gain from communion, however brief, 
with the beauty, purity, and holiness of nature— 
Imagination’s momentary spell 
Calls up a well-known scene—Oh! ’tis so fair. 
So very real—we might wander there. 
Come, let us rest on yon rude stile, where stand 
The village children, and look o’er the sea 
Of golden-coloured gmin, that waves beneath 
The gentle breath of the soft Summer’s day; 
Then, turning, glance upon those noble trees. 
Between whose gnarled trunks the winding road 
Leads onward, shaded and sunlit by tums,— 
Chequered like life, but far more pleasantly. 
Or, if the corn-field’s bright blest English face 
More lure ye than the beaten path-way, cross 
That wealth o’er-laden treasury,—and then. 
Pausing awhile, where rises the church-tower. 
Ivied, and hoar, above the girdling wood. 
On, to the hills away ! until the brow 
Of the o’er-crowning one lies ’neath your feet. 
And, leaning, breath-spent, on the turf, look round; 
First earth-ward, where the human dwellings lie 
Basking in sunlight;—then upon the hills. 
Whose swelling sides, uprising woo the clouds 
In time of tempest, and enclothe themselves 
With storm and darkness as a wintry garb, 
s 2 
