All we adore of Nature in her wild
And frolic hour of infancy, is met,
And never has a summer morning smiled
Upon a lovelier scene than the full eye
Of the enthusiast revels on—when high
“Amid thy forest-solitudes he climbs
O’er crags that proudly tower above the deep,
And knows that sense of danger, which sublimes
The breathless moment—when his daring step
Is on the verge o the cliff, and he can hear