As if the seasons had roll’d back, and life
Enjoy’d a second spring.
Through fertile fields
He went, by cots with pear-trees overbower’d,
Or spreading to the sun their trelliced vines;
Through orchards now, and now by thymy banks,
Where wooden hives in some warm nook were hid
From wind and shower; and now thro’ shadowy paths,
Where hazels fringed Pionia’s vocal stream;
Till where the loftier hills to narrower bound