me there. 
      The echo bursting from the dell,
    Recalled her song beside my bed;
      The hill-side with its sunny swell,
    Her bosom-pillow for my head. 
      The breathing lake at even-tide,
    When o’er it fell the down of night,
      Seemed the sweet heaven, which by her side,
    I found in childhood’s dreams of light: 
      And morning, as it brightly broke,
    And blessed the hills with joyous dyes,
      Was like her look, when first I woke,
    And found her gazing in my eyes.

VI.

      “Nature became my idol; wood,
    Wave, wilderness,—­I loved them all;
      I loved the forest and the solitude,
    That brooded o’er the waterfall,—­
      I loved the autumn winds that flew
    Between the swaying boughs at night,
      And from their whispers fondly drew
    Wild woven dreams of lone delight. 
      I loved the stars, and musing sought
    To read them in their depths of blue—­
      My fancy spread her sail of thought,
    And o’er that sea of azure flew. 
      Hovering in those blest paths afar,
    The wheeling planets seem to trace,
      My spirit found some islet-star,
    And chose it for its dwelling-place. 
      I loved the morn, and ere the lay
    Of plaintive meadow-lark began,
      ’Mid dewy shrubs I tore my way,
    Up the wild crag where waters ran. 
      I listened to the babbling tide,
    And thought of childhood’s merry morn,—­
      I listened to the bird that tried
    Prelusive airs, amid the thorn. 
      And then I went upon my way;
    Yet ere the sunrise kissed my cheek,
      I stood upon the forehead gray
    Of some lone mountain’s dizzy peak. 
      A ruddy light was on the hill,
    But shadows in the valley slept;
      A white mist rested o’er the rill,
    And shivering leaves with tear-drops wept. 
      The sun came up, and nature woke,
    As from a deep and sweet repose;
      From every bush soft music broke,
    And blue wreaths from each chimney rose. 
      From the green vale that lay below. 
    Full many a carol met my ear;
      The boy that drove the teeming cow. 
    And sung or whistled in his cheer;
      The dog that by his master’s side,
    Made the lone copse with echoes ring: 
      The mill that whirling in the tide,
    Seemed with a droning voice to sing;
      The lowing herd, the bleating flock,
    And many a far-off murmuring wheel: 
      Each sent its music up the rock,
    And woke my bosom’s echoing peal.

VII.