When meadow flowers allured the summer bees
And silvery skies shone o'er the cloudless scene
Bright as my thoughts when wand'ring to thy home
Where Nature looks as though she were divine
Not in the richness of the rip'ning vine
Not in the splendour of imperial Rome.
It is a ruder scene of rocks and trees
Where even barrenness is beauty—where
The glassy lake, below the mountain bare
Curls up its waters 'neath the casual breeze