"Nature became my idol; wood, Wave, wilderness,--I loved them all; I loved the forest and the solitude, That brooded o'er the waterfall,-- I loved the autumn winds that flew Between the swaying boughs at night, And from their whispers fondly drew Wild woven dreams of lone delight. I loved the stars, and musing sought To read them in their depths of blue-- My fancy spread her sail of thought, And o'er that sea of azure flew. Hovering in those blest paths afar, The wheeling planets seem to trace, My spirit found some islet-star, And chose it for its dwelling-place. I loved the morn, and ere the lay Of plaintive meadow-lark began, 'Mid dewy shrubs I tore my way, Up the wild crag where waters ran. I listened to the babbling tide, And thought of childhood's merry morn,-- I listened to the bird that tried Prelusive airs, amid the thorn. And then I went upon my way; Yet ere the sunrise kissed my cheek, I stood upon the forehead gray Of some lone mountain's dizzy peak. A ruddy light was on the hill, But shadows in the valley slept; A white mist rested o'er the rill, And shivering leaves with tear-drops wept. The sun came up, and nature woke, As from a deep and sweet repose; From every bush soft music broke, And blue wreaths from each chimney rose. From the green vale that lay below. Full many a carol met my ear; The boy that drove the teeming cow. And sung or whistled in his cheer; The dog that by his master's side, Made the lone copse with echoes ring: The mill that whirling in the tide, Seemed with a droning voice to sing; The lowing herd, the bleating flock, And many a far-off murmuring wheel: Each sent its music up the rock, And woke my bosom's echoing peal. VII. "And thus my early hours went o'er: Each scene and sound but gave delight; Or if I grieved, 'twas like the shower, That comes in sunshine, brief and bright. My heart was like the summer lake, A mirror in some valley found, Whose depths a mimic world can make More beautiful than that around. The wood, the slope, the rocky dell, To others dear, were dearer yet To me; for they would fondly dwell Mirrored in memory; and set In the deep azure of my dreams At night, how sweet they rose to view! How soft the echo, and the streams, How swift their laughing murmurs flew! And when the vision broke at morn, The music in my charmed ear, As of some fairy's lingering horn,-- My native hills, how soft, how dear! VIII.