ENOUGH of garlands, of the Arcadian crook, And all that Greece and Italy have sung Of Swains reposing myrtle groves among! 'Ours' couch on naked rocks, -- will cross a brook Swoln with chill rains, nor ever cast a look This way or that, or give it even a thought More than by smoothest pathway may be brought Into a vacant mind. Can written book Teach what 'they' learn? Up, hardy Mountaineer! And guide the Bard, ambitious to be One Of Nature's privy council, as thou art, On cloud-sequestered heights, that see and hear To what dread Powers He delegates his part On earth, who works in the heaven of heavens, alone. |