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Is vision-land so near,

And we not know of it? Oh! dull and dead

Must be the heart, the passions cold as lead,

That find no beauty here!

Fresh o'er th' awakened earth,

Now all the glories of the Summer shine;

And Nature, as if drunk with olden wine,

Is laughing in its mirth!

And melodies are heard

From far and near, and sounds that stir the heart,

Sweeter than fancy dreams of, when slow Art

To rival them has erred.

All things become more pure

And hallowed to the view: the very flowers

Seem smiling in a world more rich than ours—

A birth-place more secure!

The berry of the wood

Blooms with new lustre, 'neath the golden ray

Of the warm sunshine, resting by the way,

Where the green forests brood.

The old and reverend trees,

And clustering thickets, now are gladly sought

By him who from the heat would stray remote,

And rest his limbs at ease.

The smell of new-mown hay

Revives the heart, like as at evening time

We love to listen to the tinkling chime

Of sheep-bells far away.

And, lo! the rustic cot,

On the smooth margin of the quiet lake,

Where wedded Love and pleased Content partake

Their enviable lot:

Where, daylong, may be seen

Two sister swans, disporting in their joy;

The happy parents, with their baby-boy,

Reclining on the green.

Decay should seem unknown—

But spiteful Time its certain change prepares:

Light has its shade, and pleasure has its cares;

Music its saddened tone:

Summer its springing weeds,

And trodden flowers that tell of bygone joys,

And thoughts long since forgotten, 'mid the noise

That from man's haunts proceeds.

How beautiful the sight!

Why should we think of change for scenes like this?

Fair as a poet's thought, when thought is bliss,

And all he sees is light!

Let but th' enraptured eye

Once look upon the landscape's gorgeous train

And, like a kiss upon the brow of pain,

That brings a solace nigh,

In after years 'twill rest

Within the memory, with bloom and balm,

Refreshing to the soul, like a sweet calm

On ocean's troubled breast.