art,
    I had a thousand lays by heart;
    And while my yet unpractis’d tongue
    Descanted on the strains I sung,
    Still seeking treasure, like a bee,
    I laugh’d and caroll’d, wild with glee!

      “Delicious moments then I knew,
    When the rough winds against me blew: 
    When, from the top of mountain steep,
    I glanc’d my eye along the deep;
    Or, proud the keener air to breathe,
    Exulting saw the vale beneath. 
    When, launch’d in some lone boat, I sought
    A little kingdom for my thought,
    Within a river’s winding cove,
    Whose forests form a double grove,
    And, from the water’s silent flow,
    Appear more beautiful below;
    While their large leaves the lilies lave,
    Or plash upon the shadow’d wave;
    While birds, with darken’d pinions, fly
    Across that still intenser sky;
    Fish, with cold plunge, with startling leap,
    Or arrow-flight across the deep;
    And stilted insects, light-o-limb,
    Would dimple o’er the even brim;
    If, with my hand, in play, I chose
    The cold, smooth current to oppose,
    As fine a spell my senses bound
    As vacant bosom ever found!

      “And when I took my proudest post,
    Near him on earth I valued most,
    (No after-time could banish thence
    A father’s dear pre-eminence,)
    And felt the kind, protecting charm,
    The clasp of a paternal arm;
    Felt, as instinctively it prest,
    The sacred magnet of his breast,
    ’Gainst which I lean’d, and seem’d to grow,
    With that deep fondness none can know,
    Whom Providence does not assign
    A parent excellent as mine! 
    That faith beyond, above mistrust,
    That gratitude, so wholly just,
    Each several, crowding claim forgot,
    Whose source was light, without a blot;
    No moment of unkindness shrouding,
    No speck of anger overclouding: 
    An awful and a sweet controul,
    A rainbow arching o’er the soul;
    A soothing, tender thrill, which clung
    Around the heart, while, all unstrung,
    The thought was still, and mute the tongue!

    “O! in that morn of life is given
      To one so tun’d, a sumptuous dower! 
    Joys, which have flown direct from heaven,
      And Graces, captive in her bower.

    “Thoughts which can sail along the skies,
      Or poise upon the buoyant air;
    And make a peasant’s soul arise
      A monarch’s mighty power to share.

    “When all that we perceive below,
      By land or sea, by night or day,
    The past, the future, and the flow
      Of present times, their tribute pay.

    “Each bird, from cleft, from brake, or bower,
      Bears her a blessing on its wings;
    And every rich and precious flower
      Its fragrance on her spirit flings.