Fair shining mountains of my pilgrimage
And flowery vales, whose flow'rs were stars,
The days and nights of my first happy age;
An age without distaste and wars!
When I by thoughts ascend your sunny heads,
And mind those sacred midnight lights
By which I walk'd, when curtain'd rooms and beds
Confin'd or seal'd up others' sights:
O then, how bright,
And quick a light
Doth brush my heart and scatter night;
Chasing that shade,
Which my sins made,
While I so spring, as if I could not fade!
How brave a prospect is a bright back-side!
Where flow'rs and palms refresh the eye!
And days well spent like the glad East abide,
Whose morning-glories cannot die!