Though sluggards deem it but a foolish chase, And marvel men should quit their easy chair, The toilsome way, and long, long leagues to trace, Oh! there is sweetness in the mountain air, And life that bloated Ease can never hope to share.
I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me: and to me High mountains are a feeling, but the hum of human cities torture.
Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt In solitude, where we are alone.
But pomp and power alone are woman's care, And where these are light Eros finds a feere; Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare, And Mammon wins his way where Seraphs might despair.
