A mountain ascending, a vision of trees;
Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide,
And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside.
‘Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale,
Down which she so often has tripped with her pail;
And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove’s,
The only one dwelling on earth that she loves.
‘She looks, and her heart is in Heaven: but they fade,
The mist and the river, the hill and the shade:
The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise,