That came on the sea-wind. As mountain brooks
Our blood ran free: the sunshine seem'd to brood
More warmly on the heart than on the brow.
We often paused, and looking back, we saw
The clefts and openings in the hills all fill'd
With the blue valley and the glistening brooks,
And with the low dark groves—a land of Love;
Where Love was worshipp'd upon every height,
Where Love was worshipp'd under every tree—
A land of promise, flowing with the milk