Slow let us climb. First, look upon that flow'r
The lowly heath-bell, smiling at our feet.
How beautiful it smiles alone! The Pow'r,
that bade the great sea roar—that spread the Heav'ns—
That call'd the sun from darkness—deck'd that flow'r,
And bade it grace this bleak and barren hill.
Imagination, in her playful mood,
Might liken it to a poor village maid,
Lowly, but smiling in her lowliness,
And dress'd so neatly, as if ev'ry day