IV.

Is not this mind, to meaner thoughts unknown, A sanctuary of beauty and of light? There he may dwell in regions all his own, A world of dreams, where all is pure and bright. For him the scenes of old renown possess Romantic charms, all veil’d from other eyes; There every form of nature’s loveliness Wakes in his breast a thousand sympathies; As music’s voice, in some lone mountain dell, From rocks and caves around calls forth each echo’s swell.