A mount, not wearisome and bare and steep,
 But a green mountain variously up-piled,
Where o'er the jutting rocks soft mosses creep,
Or colour'd lichens with slow oozing weep;
 Where cypress and the darker yew start wild;
And, 'mid the summer torrent's gentle dash
Dance brighten'd the red clusters of the ash;
 Beneath whose boughs, by those still sounds beguil'd,
Calm Pensiveness might muse herself to sleep;
 Till haply startled by some fleecy dam,
 That rustling on the bushy cliff above
With melancholy bleat of anxious love,
 Made meek enquiry for her wandering lamb:
 Such a green mountain 'twere most sweet to climb,
E'en while the bosom ach'd with loneliness—
How more than sweet, if some dear friend should bless
 The adventurous toil, and up the path sublime
Now lead, now follow: the glad landscape round,
Wide and more wide, increasing without bound!
 O then 'twere loveliest sympathy, to mark
The berries of the half-uprooted ash
Dripping and bright; and list the torrent's dash,—
 Beneath the cypress, or the yew more dark,
Seated at ease, on some smooth mossy rock;
In social silence now, and now to unlock
The treasur'd heart; arm linked in friendly arm,
Save if the one, his muse's witching charm
Muttering brow-bent, at unwatch'd distance lag;
 Till high o'er head his beckoning friend appears,
And from the forehead of the topmost crag
 Shouts eagerly: for haply there uprears
That shadowing Pine its old romantic limbs,
 Which latest shall detain the enamour'd sight
Seen from below, when eve the valley dims,
 Tinged yellow with the rich departing light;
 And haply, bason'd in some unsunn'd cleft,
A beauteous spring, the rock's collected tears,
Sleeps shelter'd there, scarce wrinkled by the gale!
 Together thus, the world's vain turmoil left,
Stretch'd on the crag, and shadow'd by the pine,
 And bending o'er the clear delicious fount,
Ah! dearest youth! it were a lot divine
To cheat our noons in moralising mood,
While west-winds fann'd our temples toil-bedew'd:
 Then downwards slope, oft pausing, from the mount,
To some lone mansion, in some woody dale,
Where smiling with blue eye, Domestic Bliss
Gives this the Husband's, that the Brother's kiss!
Thus rudely vers'd in allegoric lore,
 The Hill of Knowledge I essayed to trace;
That verdurous hill with many a resting-place,
And many a stream, whose warbling waters pour
 To glad, and fertilise the subject plains;
That hill with secret springs, and nooks untrod,
And many a fancy-blest and holy sod
 Where Inspiration, his diviner strains
Low-murmuring, lay; and starting from the rock's
Stiff evergreens, (whose spreading foliage mocks
Want's barren soil, and the bleak frosts of age,
And Bigotry's mad fire-invoking rage!)
O meek retiring spirit! we will climb,
Cheering and cheered, this lovely hill sublime;
 And from the stirring world up-lifted high
(Whose noises, faintly wafted on the wind,
To quiet musings shall attune the mind,
 And oft the melancholy theme supply),
 There, while the prospect through the gazing eye
 Pours all its healthful greenness on the soul,
We'll smile at wealth, and learn to smile at fame,
Our hopes, our knowledge, and our joys the same,
 As neighbouring fountains image each the whole:
Then when the mind hath drunk its fill of truth
 We'll discipline the heart to pure delight,
Rekindling sober joy's domestic flame.
They whom I love shall love thee, honour'd youth!
 Now may Heaven realise this vision bright!