XCIV. In such an hour he turns, and on his view, Of Summer's sky, in beauty bending o'er him- XCV. Tall spire, and glittering roof, and battlement, And white sails o'er the calm blue waters bent, Green isle and circling shore, are blended there, In wild reality. When life is old, And many a scene forgot, the heart will hold XCVI. Its memory of this; nor lives there one Whose infant breath was drawn, or boyhood's days Of happiness, were pass'd beneath that sun, Upon that bay, or on that mountain stand, |