RETURN, Content! for fondly I pursued, Even when a child, the Streams -- unheard, unseen; Through tangled woods, impending rocks between; Or, free as air, with flying inquest viewed The sullen reservoirs whence their bold brood -- Pure as the morning, fretful, boisterous, keen, Green as the salt-sea billows, white and green -- Poured down the hills, a choral multitude! Nor have I tracked their course for scanty gains; They taught me random cares and truant joys, That shield from mischief and preserve from stains Vague minds, while men are growing out of boys; Maturer Fancy owes to their rough noise Impetuous thoughts that brook not servile reins. |