Is in some beauteous place where faces beam
In loveliness and joy! To hail the morn,
The infant pours it from his rosy mouth,
Ere, o'er the fields, with blissful heart he roams,
To watch the syren lark, or mark the sun
Surround with golden light the rainbow clouds.
That music-lay awak'd within my heart
Thoughts, that had wept themselves to death, like clouds
In summer hours.—It brought before mine eyes
The haunts so often worshipped, the forms